


The Gem Foretold

by blubberpatchcumquat (VanillaSkyce)



Series: The Gemstone Chronicles [1]
Category: Original Work, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Major Fight Scene Chapter 19, Gen, Greg Actually Does Stuff In This AU, Greg is a Badass Dude, High Fantasy, Pearl is Steven's Aunt, Ronaldo makes his move in Chapter 29, Ruby Joins The Team! Chapter 31, Slow Burn, They Finally Leave The Farm At Chapter 13, Vidalia and Amethyst are here! Chapter 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 95,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaSkyce/pseuds/blubberpatchcumquat
Summary: Okay lads, I see you reading this. You're wondering why this fic is worth your time. I can honestly say that it might not be, because it is my first work, but here's the thing.IF YOU LIKE HIGH FANTASY, IF YOU LIKE STEVEN UNIVERSE, and most importantly,IF YOU WANT AN ORIGINAL SU STORYLINE THAT ISN'T A RECYCLED BECKIE SWEETS PLOTLINE,Then, by all means, give this fic a hit. It's long, but if you're a fantasy fan, you might like it.Main Party : Steven Quartz Universe, Pearl, Greg Universe, Vidalia, Amethyst, BismuthVillains : Ronaldo Fryman, MartyCharacters Not Included in this Volume : Lapis Lazuli, Peridot, Connie Maheshwaran, Jasper, Off Colours, Lars Barriga, Aquamarine, Topaz, Cool Kids





	1. Foreword and Author's Note

**[A/ N: Welcome, welcome and thank you for choosing to join me on this journey. Now you may be expecting a certain level of magic, mystery and plot from a High Fantasy AU, and you'd be absolutely right!**

**I've seen so many College AUs lately, so I thought I'd try my hand at something different involving all of the SU characters and some OCs.**

**As you take this journey with me, I'd like you to remember that YOU, YES YOU, THE READER, have a say in how I can shape this story moving forward.**

**This tale is an epic quest, and as you know, quests can have unexpected twists, subplots, details and unforeseen developments that help to keep it interesting.**

**Therefore, as I develop this grand tale, please leave your comments and your personal feedback on what YOU think of these developments and what YOU would like to see happen next!**

**Now, without further ado, let's dive into the lore!]**

_P.S. : If you have an idea that another Fantasy Fiction Tale has given you, let me know! I'll try and see whether I can weave it into a meaningful subplot, which will ultimately count towards the final showdown between Steven and Black Diamond_


	2. Prologue: The War of the Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory to what this fantasy world is like.

_The following excerpt was taken from the original copy of the Book of the Sangrians. All ownership rights belong to the Curator of the Grand Sangrian Archive_ s.

When this world was yet nascent, seven celestials, the Great Diamond Authority, came into being, created by the Universe itself. They dwelt in harmony with all creation, their own gemkind, and later humankind which spontaneously erupted into being from the conditions of the world they created for their gems.

Pink, youngest of the Diamonds, was beloved by the Sangrians. She abode with them and cherished them, and they prospered under her care. So too did the other Diamonds take a people under their watchful light, and cherish them in turn.

Pink's oldest sister, however, Grey Diamond, had taken no people under her care. She dwelt apart from Men and Gems alike, until the day that an orphan waif sought her out. Grey Diamond accepted the child as her disciple, and called him Gregarion. It was from Grey that Gregarion learned the secrets of Diamond Magic and became a sorcerer. In the years that followed, kindred souls sought out the solitary Diamond in the same way. They joined in brotherhood to learn at the feet of Grey Diamond, and time did not touch them.

It came to be that Grey Diamond, pensive by nature, began to ponder upon the origins of consciousness itself, and so she broke off a natural vein of rose quartz, superheated it, and fashioned it into the shape of an orb, no larger than the heart of a child, and she turned the gem in her hand over and over again, until it became sentient. The power of the living jewel, named The Grey Ward henceforth by Men, was immense in its own right, and Grey worked wonders with it.

Of all the Diamonds, White Diamond was the most radiant, and her beauty was both revered and feared by all who saw her. Hers was a people called the Alabastians. They sacrificed before her, calling her the Queen of Queens, and White found the smell of sacrifice and words of adulation sweet. The day came, however, when she heard word of The Grey Ward, and from that moment she knew no peace.

Finally, in a dissembling guise, she came to Grey Diamond.

"Dear sister," she began, "It is not fitting that you should absent yourself from our company and counsel. Put aside this petty pursuit which has cast your mind away from our fellowship."

Grey Diamond was not so easily taken by her words, and saw the truth in her intention. Gently, she rebuked her sister.

"Why do you desire lordship and dominion so fiercely, White? Is not Alabastia enough for you? Do not, in your hubris, my sister, seek to possess the Ward, lest it destroy you."

Like piercing blows, Grey's truthful words filled White's heart with shame. Raising her hand, she smote her sister, took the jewel, and fled.

The other Diamonds had pleaded White, in gentle tones, to return the Ward, but she refused. Their hands forced, the other races of Gem and Man rose up against the hosts of Alabastia and made war upon them. The wars of Gems and Men raged across the land until, near the high peaks of Ignia, White Diamond raised the artefact and forced it to join its will with hers to rend the earth asunder. Mountains crumbled and cracked, and the sea rushed in where new space was created. Only with the timely intervention of Pink and Grey Diamond was the cataclysm mitigated, and the sea's advance halted. The various races and peoples of the world, however, were irreversibly separated by the event, and with them, so too the Diamonds.

When White raised the living Ward against the Earth, its mother, it awoke, and began to glower with holy light. The face of White Diamond was seared by its intensity, too radiant and bright to behold. In pain, she cast down the mountains. In anguish, she cracked open the earth. In agony, she let in the sea. In an instant, her left hand which beheld the Ward was snuffed of all light. The left side of her face became corrupted and malformed, with erratic patterns of black crystal taking root all over her form. Her left eye shrivelled and died in its socket, and became infected with crystal rot. With a great cry, she cast herself away, hoping not to behold her twisted reflection upon the sea.

When next she revealed herself before her people, her right side was still fair, but her left was scarred and deformed hideously by the searing of the Grey Ward. In endless pain, she led her people far into the East, where they built a great city on the plateaus of Mania, which they called Noxu-Isyak, meaning the Black City, for White now hid her maiming in darkness. The Alabastians raised an ivory tower for their Diamond and placed the Ward in an ivory cask at the topmost chamber. Often stood White before the cask, then fled, weeping, fearing the Ward's retribution upon her a second time.

The centuries rolled by, and White was rechristened as the Black Diamond, both for deed and appearance, which the world came to know at both the moment of her maiming, and by legend for the generations to come.


	3. Prologue II : The Acts of Gregarion the Sorcerer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg actually does stuff in this Fantasy AU

In the dark days since the Cataclysm, Pink Diamond ferried her people north, toward the Ice Lands. Of all the world's peoples, the Sangrians were the hardiest and the most resilient, and in their hearts burned an unquenchable hatred for the Alabastians. With fury unrelenting they ranged far north, braving the cold and frost for a way to reach their ancient enemies.

And so it would be ever thus, until the time where Wy-Ate Broad-shoulders, the great king of the Sangrians, traveled to the Grey Vale in search of Gregarion the Sorcerer.

"The North-East Passage has been found." He said. "There is no better time than now to discover the way to the Black City and regain the Ward from the One-Eyed God."

Gregarion pondered upon this development with much thought. His wife, Rosalina, was heavy with child, and he was reluctant to leave her. Wy-Ate was insistent, however, and soon pragmatism overruled sentimentality. Together with Wy-Ate's children, Wy-Ix Strong Arm, Anya Fleetfoot and Hrodheid Iron-Grip, they made the journey north through the Lands of Forever Winter.

Blistering cold winds gripped the northlands, and the moors glistened beneath the stars with frost and steely gray ice. To make the journey easier, Gregarion took the form of a great silver wolf to scout the path ahead. On silent paws, he slunk through the snow-covered forests where the trees lay cracked and shattered from the sundering cold. Frost took to his fur like kindling to a wildfire, and ever after the hair and beard of Gregarion the Sorcerer became silver.

Through snow and mist, they crossed into the highlands of Mania and came at last to Noxu-Isyak. Finding secret passage into the city, Gregarion the Sorcerer led them to the foot of the ivory tower. Silently they crept up the decaying stairs, which had known no step for twenty centuries. Fearfully they bypassed the chamber where Black Diamond tossed through pain-haunted slumber, her hideously maimed face hidden behind an ivory mask. Stealthily they crept past the sleeping god in smouldering darkness and came at last to the chamber where lay the ivory cask in which rested the living Ward.

Wy-Ate motioned for Gregarion to take the Ward, but he refused.

"I may not touch it," motioned Gregarion, "lest it corrupt me entirely. Once it welcomed the touch of both Man and Gem, but the Dreaded One's misuse of it against its mother has hardened its will against us entirely. It shall not be used so again. It reads our souls and only one without ill intent, one with no thoughts of power or possession over it, one who is pure enough to take and convey it in peril of his life, may touch it."

"Then we are surely lost!" said Wy-Ate, saddened, "For no man is born without such intention in his soul."

Or so he thought. For in an instant, an unthinking Hrodheid, with no thought other than the safety of his people and the world in mind, opened the cask and bore forth the Ward.

It glowered fiercely in recognition of Hrodheid, first an angry, startled red, then down to a subtle, cool blue. It had accepted Hrodheid as its bearer.

"So be it, Ate. " Gregarion intoned. "Your youngest son is pure. It shall be his doom and the doom of all who follow him to protect the Ward and bear it forth.". And Gregarion sighed, knowing full well the burden he had placed upon Hrodheid.

"Then his siblings and I will sustain him," replied Wy-Ate, grimly, "for as long as this doom is upon him."

And so Hrodheid muffled the Ward beneath his cloak and they fled the wasteland in the night.

Soon after, Black Diamond rose and went as always into the Chamber of the Ward. But the cask stood open, and the Ward was gone. Terrible was the wrath of Black Diamond. She swelled into immensity, and in one fell swoop, obliterated the ivory tower that was her abode. And so the tower fell. To the Alabastians she cried out in rage :

"Because you have become indolent and unwatchful and have let a thief steal that for which I paid so dear, I will break your city and drive you forth. Alabastia shall wander the earth until that which is mine, The Corrupted Ward, is returned to me!"

Then she cast down the Black City in ruins and drove the hosts of Alabastia into the wilderness. The Black City was no more.

Three leagues to the north, Gregarion heard the wailing from the city and knew that the Dread God had awakened. "Now will she come after us," he said, "and only the power of the Ward can save us. When the hosts are upon us, Iron-grip, take the Ward and hold it so they may see it."

The hosts of Alabastia came, with Black Diamond herself in the forefront, but Hrodheid held forth the Ward so that the maimed God and her hosts might behold it. The Ward knew its enemy. Its hatred flamed anew, and the sky became alight with its fury. Black Diamond cried out and turned away. The front ranks of the Alabastian hosts were consumed by light, and the rest fled in terror.

Thus Gregarion and his companions escaped from Mania and passed again through the marches of the north, bearing the The Grey Ward once more into the Kingdoms of the West.

Now the Gods, knowing all that had passed, held council, and Grey Diamond advised them, "If we raise war again upon our sister White Diamond, our strife will destroy the world. Thus we must absent ourselves from the world so that our sister may not find us. No longer in flesh, but in spirit only may we remain to guide and protect our people. For the world's sake it must be so. In the day that we war again, the world will be unmade."

The Gods wept that they must depart. But Yellow Diamond, God of the Flaxen, asked, "In our absence, shall not White have dominion?"

"Not so," Grey replied. "So long as the Ward remains with the line of Hrodheid Iron-grip, White shall not prevail."

So it was that the Diamonds departed, and only Black Diamond remained. But the knowledge that the Ward in the hand of Hrodheid denied her dominion cankered her soul.

Then Gregarion spoke with Wy-Ate and his progeny. "Here we must part, to guard the Ward and to prepare against the coming of the Black One. Let each turn aside as I have instructed and make preparations."

"We will, Gregarion," vowed Wy-Ate Broad-shoulders. "From this day, Sangria is no more, but the Sangrians will deny dominion to Black Diamond as long as one Sangrian remains."

Gregarion raised his face. "Hear me, O One-eye," he cried. "The living Ward is secure against ye, and you shall not prevail against it. In the day that you come against us, I shall raise war against ye. I will maintain watch upon you by day and by night and will abide against your coming, even to the end of days."

In the wastelands of Mania, the Dread God heard the voice of Gregarion and smote about herself in fury, for she knew that the living Ward was forever beyond her reach.

Then Wy-Ate embraced his sons and turned away, to see them no more. Ix went north and dwelt in the lands drained by River Marin. He built a city at Wal'kofte and called his lands Q'zarnia. And he and his descendants stood athwart the northern marches and denied them to the enemy. Anya went south with her people and found horses on the broad plains drained by the Grey River. The horses they tamed and learned to ride, and for the first time in history, mounted warriors appeared. Their country they called Aíne, and they became nomads, following their herds. Wy-Ate returned sadly to Van Sangria and renamed his kingdom Wy-Ate, for now he was alone and without heirs. Grimly he built tall ships of war to patrol the seas and deny them to the enemy.

Upon the bearer of the Ward, however, fell the burden of the longest journey. Taking his people, Hrodheid went to the west coast of Delmarvia. There he built ships, and he and his people crossed to the Shivering Isles. They burned their ships and built a fortress and a walled city around it. The city they called Hródenheim and the fortress the Hall of the Hroden King. Then Pink, God of the Sangrians, caused two stars to fall from the sky. Hrodheid took up the stars and forged a blade from one and a hilt from the other, setting the Ward upon it as a pommel-stone. So large was the sword that none but Hrodheid could wield it. In the wasteland of Mania, Black felt in her soul the forging of the sword and she tasted fear for the first time.

The sword was set against the black rock that stood at the back of Hrodheid's throne, with the Ward at the highest point, and the sword joined to the rock so that none but Hrodheid could remove it. The Ward burned with cold fire when Hrodheid sat upon the throne. And when he took down his sword and raised it, it became a great tongue of cold fire.

The greatest wonder of all was the marking of Hrodheid's heir. In each generation, one child in the line of Hrod bore upon the palm of his right hand the mark of the Ward. The child so marked was taken to the throne chamber, and his hand was placed upon the Ward, so that it might know him. With each infant touch, the Ward waxed in brilliance, and the bond between the living Ward and the line of Hrod became stronger with each joining.

After Gregarion had parted from his companions, he hastened to the Grey Vale. But there he found that Rosalina, his wife, had borne twin daughters and then had died. In sorrow he named the elder Polina. Her hair was dark as the raven's wing. In the fashion of sorcerers, he stretched forth his hand to lay it upon her brow, and a single lock at her forehead turned frost-white at his touch. Then he was troubled, for the white lock was the mark of the sorcerers, and Polina was the first female child to be so marked.

His second daughter, fair-skinned and strangely pink-haired, was unmarked. He called her Rosalie, and he and her dark-haired sister loved her beyond all else and contended with each other for her affection.

Now when Polina and Rosalie had reached their sixteenth year, the Spirit of Grey Diamond came to Gregarion in a dream, saying, "My beloved disciple, I would join your line with the line of the guardian of the Ward. Choose, therefore, which of your daughters you would give to the Hroden King to be his wife and the mother of his line, for in that line lies the hope of the world, against which the dark power of White may not prevail."

In the deep silence of his soul, Gregarion was tempted to choose Polina. But, knowing the burden which lay upon the Hroden King, he sent Rosalie instead, and wept when she was gone. Polina wept also, long and bitterly, knowing that her sister must fade and die. In time, however, they comforted each other and came at last to know each other.

They joined their powers to keep watch over Black Diamond. And some men say that they abide still, keeping their vigil through all the uncounted centuries.


	4. Life on a Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, to our main characters...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point onwards, you'll start to see the action taper off as I begin to place more focus on character development. Bear with me, if you don't like CD as much as I do, but if you do, enjoy hearing about our eponymous trio of SU characters whom you'll hear about in this chapter :)

**The first thing** the boy Steven would remember was the kitchen at Alger's Farm. For the rest of his life, he would always have a special, warm feeling for kitchens and those peculiar sounds and smells that seemed somehow to combine into something bustling with life. A life that had to do with love and food and comfort and security and above all, home. No matter how far Steven would rise in life, he would never forget that all of his good memories began in a kitchen.

The kitchen at Alger's farm was a large, low-beamed room filled with ovens and kettles and great spits that turned slowly in cavernlike arched fireplaces. There were long, heavy worktables where bread was kneaded into loaves and chickens were cut up and carrots and celery were diced with quick, crisp rocking movements of long, curved knives. When Steven was very small, he played under those tables and soon learned to keep his fingers and toes out from under the feet of the kitchen helpers who worked around them. And sometimes in the late afternoon when he grew tired, he would lie in a corner and stare into one of the flickering fires that gleamed and reflected back from the hundred polished pots and knives and long-handled spoons that hung from pegs along the whitewashed walls and, all bemused, he would drift off into sleep in perfect peace and harmony with the world around him.

The centre of the kitchen and everything that happened there was Aunt Pearl. She seemed somehow to be able to be everywhere at once. The finishing touch that plumped a goose in its roasting pan or deftly shaped a rising loaf or garnished a smoking ham fresh from the oven was always hers. Though there were several others who worked in the kitchen, no loaf, stew, soup, roast, or vegetable ever went out of it that had not been touched at least once by Aunt Pearl. She knew by smell, taste, or some higher instinct what each dish required, and she seasoned them all by pinch or trace or a negligent-seeming shake from earthenware spice pots. It was as if there was a kind of magic about her, a knowledge and power beyond that of ordinary people. And yet, even at her busiest, she always knew precisely where Steven was. In the very midst of crimping a pie crust or decorating a special cake or stitching up a freshly stuffed chicken she could, without looking, reach out a leg and hook him back out from under the feet of others with heel or ankle.

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As he grew a bit older, it even became a game. Steven would watch until she seemed far too busy to notice him, and then, laughing, he would run on his sturdy little legs toward a door. But she would always catch him. And he would laugh and throw his arms around her neck and kiss her and then go back to watching for his next chance to run away again.

He was quite convinced in those early years that his Aunt Pearl was quite the most important and beautiful woman in the world. For one thing, she was taller than the other women on Alger's farm-very nearly as tall as a man and her face was always serious-even stern-except with him, of course. Her hair was long and very dark-almost black-all but one lock just above her left brow which was white as new snow. At night when she tucked him into the little bed close beside her own in their private room above the kitchen, he would reach out and touch that white lock; she would smile at him and touch his face with a soft hand.

And watch over him she did. Many a night he would wake from restful slumber, conscious but not yet shaken entirely from the vestiges of sleep, to crack open an eye and see his Aunt Pearl in the far corner of the room, reclined in a rocking chair, eyes locked onto his sleeping form.

Every. Single. Time.

It made him feel warm. It made him feel loved. He would let that feeling wash over him, and ride its currents back into the world of dreams.

Once, though he wasn't sure, he thought he saw in place of Aunt Pearl, a snowy white owl preening itself at the windowsill. He blinked and it disappeared, Aunt Pearl in her place at her rocking chair. He wrote it off as a dream.

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Alger's farm lay very nearly in the centre of Delmarvia, a misty kingdom bordered on the west by the Sea of the Winds and on the east by the Gulf of Wy-Ate. Like all farmhouses in that particular time and place, Alger's farmstead was not one building or two, but rather was a solidly constructed complex of sheds and barns and hen roosts and dovecotes all facing inward upon a central yard with a stout gate at the front. Along the second story gallery were the rooms, some spacious, some quite tiny, in which lived the farmhands who tilled and planted and weeded the extensive fields beyond the walls. Alger himself lived in quarters in the square tower above the central dining hall where his workers assembled three times a day-sometimes four during harvest time-to feast on the bounty of Aunt Pearl's kitchen.

All in all, it was quite a happy and harmonious place. Farmer Alger was a good master. He was a tall, serious man with a long nose and an even longer jaw. Though he seldom laughed or even smiled, he was kind to those who worked for him and seemed more intent on maintaining them all in health and well-being than extracting the last possible ounce of sweat from them. In many ways, he was more like a father than a master to the sixty-odd people who lived on his freeholding. He ate with them-which was unusual, since many farmers in the district sought to hold themselves aloof from their workers-and his presence at the head of the central table in the dining hall exerted a restraining influence on some of the younger ones who tended sometimes to be boisterous. Farmer Alger was a devout man, and he invariably invoked with simple eloquence the blessing of the Diamonds before each meal. The people of his farm, knowing this, filed with some decorum into the dining hall before each meal and sat in the semblance at least of piety before attacking the heaping platters and bowls of food that Aunt Pearl and her helpers had placed before them.

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Because of Alger's good heart, and the magic of Aunt Pearl's deft fingers- the farm was known throughout the district as the finest place to live and work for twenty leagues in any direction.

Whole evenings were spent in the tavern in the nearby village of Upper Geralt in minute descriptions of the near-miraculous meals served regularly in Alger's dining hall.

Less fortunate men who worked at other farms were frequently seen, after several pots of ale, to weep openly at descriptions of one of Aunt Pearl's roasted geese, and the fame of Alger's farm spread wide throughout the district.

The most important man on the farm, aside from Alger, was Bismuth the smith. As Steven grew older and was allowed to move out from under Aunt Pearl's watchful eye, he found his way inevitably to the smithy.

The glowing iron that came from Bismuth's forge had an almost hypnotic attraction for him. Bismuth was a strong, muscled man with rainbow-coloured hair and a slightly cherubic face, both turned a ruddy brown from the heat of his forge.

He was somewhat tall and stout in figure, which made his figure very imposing. Many a shady traveller greeted by Aunt Pearl, Bismuth and Alger would think twice before thinking to try anything. He was sober and quiet, and like most men who follow his trade, he was enormously strong. He wore a rough leather jerkin and an apron of the same material. Both were spotted with burns from the sparks which flew from his forge. He also wore tight-fitting hose and soft leather boots as was the custom in that part of Delmarvia.

At first Bismuth's only words to Steven were warnings to keep his fingers away from the forge and the glowing metal which came from it. In time, however, he and the boy became friends, and he spoke more frequently.

"Always finish what you set your hand to," he would advise. "It's bad for the iron if you set it aside and then take it back to the fire more than is needful."

"Why's that?" Steven would ask.

Bismuth would shrug. "It just is."

"Always do the very best job you can," he said on another occasion as he put a last few finishing touches with a file on the metal parts of a wagon tongue he was repairing.

"But that piece goes underneath," Steven said. "No one will ever see it."

"But I know it's there," Bismuth said, still smoothing the metal. "If it isn't done as well as I can do it, I'll be ashamed every time I see this wagon go by and I'll see the wagon every day."

And so it went. Without even intending to, Bismuth instructed the small boy in those solid Delmarvian virtues of work, thrift, sobriety, good manners, and practicality which formed the backbone of the society.

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At first Aunt Pearl worried about Steven's attraction to the smithy with its obvious dangers; but after watching from her kitchen door for a while, she realized that Bismuth was almost as watchful of Steven's safety as she was herself and she became less concerned.

"If the boy becomes bothersome, my dear blacksmith, send him away," she told the smith on one occasion when she had brought a large copper kettle to the smithy to be patched, "or tell me, and I'll keep him closer to the kitchen."

"He's no bother, Miss Pearl," Bismuth said, smiling. "He's a sensible boy and knows enough to keep out of the way."

"You're too good-natured, Bismuth," Aunt Pearl said. "The boy is full of questions. Answer one and a dozen more pour out."

"That's how boys are," Bismuth said, carefully pouring bubbling metal into the small clay ring he'd placed around the tiny hole in the bottom of the kettle. "I was full of questions myself when I was a boy. Me father and old Boll, the smith who taught me, were patient enough to answer what they could. I'd repay them poorly if I didn't have the same patience with Steven."

Steven, who was sitting nearby, had held his breath during this conversation. He knew that one wrong word on either side would have instantly banished him from the smithy. As Aunt Pearl walked back smiling across the hard-packed dirt of the yard toward her kitchen with the new-mended kettle, he noticed the way that Bismuth watched her, and an idea began to form in his mind. It was a simple idea, and the beauty of it was that it provided something for everyone.

"Aunt Pearl," he said that night, wincing as she washed one of his ears with a rough cloth.

"Yes?" she said, turning her attention to his neck.

"Why don't you marry Bismuth?"

He felt her stiffen. "What?" she asked.

"I think it would be an awfully good idea."

"Oh, do you?" Her voice had taken on an iron edge, and Steven knew he was on dangerous ground.

"He likes you," he said defensively.

"And I suppose you've already discussed this with him?"

"No," he said. "I thought I'd talk to you about it first."

"At least that was a good idea."

"I can tell him about it tomorrow morning if you'd like."

His head was turned around quite firmly by one ear. Aunt Pearl, Steven felt, found his ears far too convenient.

"Don't you so much as breathe one word of this nonsense to Bismuth or anyone else," she said, her teal eyes burning into his with a fire he had never seen there before.

"It was only a thought," he said quickly.

"A very bad one. From now on leave thinking to grown-ups." She was still holding his ear.

"Anything you say," he backpedaled hastily.

Later that night, however, when they lay in their beds in the quiet darkness, he approached the problem obliquely.

"Aunt Pearl?"

"Yes?"

"Since you don't want to marry Bismuth, whom do you want to marry?"

He heard her sigh in the darkness. "Steven," she began.

"Yes?"

"Close your mouth and go to sleep."

"I think I've got a right to know," he said in an injured tone.

"Steven!"

"All right. I'm going to sleep, but I don't think you're being very fair about all this."

Unbeknownst to Steven, her face took on a resigned expression, knowing that her next move would change the way he saw her.

"Very well," she sighed. "I'm not thinking of getting married. I have never thought of getting married and I seriously doubt that I'll ever think of getting married. I have far too many important things to attend to for any of that."

"Don't worry, Aunt Pearl," he said, wanting to put her mind at ease. "When I grow up, I'll marry you."

She paused suddenly, before erupting into stifled laughter. She reached out to caress the side of his cheek.

"Oh no, my baby," she said. "There's another wife in store for you."

And Steven was left to wonder what was meant by that.

"Aunt Pearl?"

"What is it now, Steven?"

"Where..." Steven paused. "What happened to my mother?"

The darkness stayed silent for a long, long time. Then, another sigh.

"She died, Steven." she said softly.

Inexplicably, though he barely knew her, he felt a sudden wrenching surge of grief. He began to cry.

And then she was beside his bed. She knelt on the floor and put her arms around him in a warm embrace.

Finally, a long time later, after she had carried him to her own bed and held him close until his grief had run its course, Steven asked brokenly, "What was she like? My mother?"

Had he not known better, Steven would have thought that the sigh she gave then was one of longing.

"She was.... lovely." Aunt Pearl said, "She was very brave and very kind and very beautiful. Her voice was gentle, and she was very happy."

"Did she love me?"

"More than you could imagine."

And then he cried again, but his crying was quieter now, more regretful than anguished.

Aunt Pearl held him closely until he cried himself to sleep.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering where the other two are, patience my friends :)


	5. The Friends We Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven has friends on this little farm of his. But also, enemies.

Of course, there were other children besides Steven on the farm. It was only natural in a community of over sixty or so people. While those of age began working alongside their parents and neighbours, Steven, fortunately, had four other children with whom to pass the time on the homestead. These four children became his playmates and his friends.

The oldest one was named Pinto. It was an odd name for a Flaxen child, but that was because that was all his vocabulary consisted of. He was a year or two older than Steven, and a fair bit taller too. Ordinarily, this would make him the leader of the group; but because he was a Flax, his speech impediment notwithstanding, his sense was a bit limited, and so he cheerfully deferred to the other children.

The kingdom of Delmarvia, unlike other kingdoms, was inhabited by a wide variety of racial stocks. Wy-Ates, Ainur, Q'zareen, Flax, and even a substantial number of Shwar had merged to form the elemental Delmarvia. The Flaxen, of course, were a very courageous people, and as if to compensate, very dense.

Steven's second playmate was a diminutive little boy named Onion. His background was  _ so  _ mixed, it was only accurate to call him a Delmarvian. There were many notable things about Onion, for one, he was always running. He never walked if he could help it. He had quick fingers. Many a time, when Steven used to visit the smithy with Onion, Bismuth would always end up questioning where his tools went. It was comical, especially when the quality of his work necessitated swiftness, and Steven would end up stifling his laughter watching Bismuth grow more and more frantic in search of his misplaced tools, only to spy Onion out of the corner of his eye, with those very tools behind his back. He was a chatterbox. He talked so fast and so quickly, sometimes it seemed to Steven to be almost unintelligible murmuring. Or 'muhmuh'-ing as he would put it. Steven would often laugh watching Onion get riled up when teased about it by his friends.

The undisputed leader, or leaders, rather, of their little quintet, were a pair of twins, Elyne and Ellie. They were inseparable, and together, absolutely unstoppable. Charmers, the both of them, when they weren't quarrelling, they had the rest of the boys wrapped around their fingers. It was they who invented their fun little games, made up tales and set them to stealing apples from Farmer Alger's orchards. They were twin rulers, and their dominion the farm, playing each boy against the other like gladiators and inciting them into fights. They were quite ruthless at times, and all three of the boys found themselves hating them both on occasion, but remained, still, compliant to their every request.

In the early days of winter, they delighted in sliding down the snowy hillsides behind the farm on wide pallets, racing each other in grand fashion and having snowball fights. It was a most peculiar sight for the farm-goers to see five excited little children leave, and have them return hours later as five adorable snowmen, covered completely in snow and sleet. When winter set in, and their sledding expeditions could find no chaperones, they would turn to Bismuth instead to check on the safety of the ice. Once approved, they would slide endlessly across the glittering frozen pond, located conveniently just beside the group of sheds on the east of the homestead by the road to Upper Geralt. And if even that wasn't possible, they would gather in the barnhouses, the ones with the most hay, and leap from the highest loft into the soft hay beneath, filling their hair with chaff and their noses with dust that smelled of summer.

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It was Onion, naturally, who fell from a tree one fine spring morning in the midst of catching squirrels while Elyne urged him into one of the higher branches in search of them. Since Pinto had just stood there, helplessly gaping like a stone, and Elyne herself had long since run away before Onion even hit the ground, it was up to Steven to make the difficult decision. Gravely he considered the situation for a few moments, his young face seriously intent beneath his black-haired locks. The arm was obviously broken, and Onion, pale and frightened, bit his lip to keep from crying.

Steven knelt beside Onion, intent on lifting him, when a movement caught his eye. A man in a dark cloak sat astride a large black horse not far away, watching intently. When their eyes met, Steven felt a momentary chill.

He had seen this man before. Indeed, that dark figure had hovered on the edge of his vision for as long as he could remember, never speaking, but always watching. There was, in that silent scrutiny, a kind of cold animosity curiously mingled with something that was almost, but not quite, fear.

Then Onion whimpered, and Steven turned back.

Carefully he bound the injured arm across the front of Onion's body with his rope belt, and then he and Pinto helped the injured boy to his feet.

"At least he could have helped us," Steven said resentfully.

"Who?" Pinto said, looking around.

Steven turned to point at the dark-cloaked man, but the rider was gone.

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Steven swiftly, or at least with some semblance of swiftness, ferried Onion to Aunt Pearl's.

When the three appeared at the door of her kitchen, she paused for but a moment to take in the situation. She blinked.

"Bring him here." Said Aunt Pearl, her voice unwavering. She set the pale and violently trembling boy on a stool near one of the ovens and mixed a tea of several herbs taken from earthenware jars on a high shelf in the back of one of her pantries.

"Drink this," she instructed Onion, handing him a steaming mug.

"Will it make my arm well?" Onion asked in Onion-speak, suspiciously eyeing the evil-smelling brew.

"Just drink it, child." She began laying splints and bandages upon the table.

"Ech! It's awful!" He cried, making a face.

"It's supposed to be." Aunt Pearl replied. "Drink it all."

"I don't think I want anymore," he said.

She stared at him, with all the seriousness of a mother. Then she turned and lifted a long, sharp curving knife from a hook on the ceiling.

"W-what are you going to do with that?" Onion's voice took on an alarmed tone.

"Oh!" Her voice took a tone of mock surprise. "Well, since you're not going to drink your medicine, that means the arm isn't going to get better."

She sharpened the blade slowly, deliberately, against the hard stone countertop

"Which means it has to come off." She said ominously.

"Off?" Onion squeaked, his eyes bulging.

"Probably about right there," she remarked, thoughtfully touching his arm at the elbow with the knife point.

Tears filling his eyes, Onion gulped down the rest of the liquid in fear. A few minutes later he was nodding on his stool.

"Ugh... Head hurty." Onion said groggily.

He screamed only once as Aunt Pearl carried out her work, setting the bone, then the splints, and finally the bandages and sling. She spoke briefly with his frightened father then had Bismuth carry him off to bed.

"Aunt Pearl, you wouldn't really have cut his arm off, right?" said Steven. It was a statement. One he hoped she would corroborate.

Aunt Pearl had since returned to her work at the oven, but upon hearing his question, she turned her head ever so slightly to regard Steven.

"Oh?" She replied.

Steven was not so sure anymore.

——————————————————————

He knew what birds sounded like. He heard finches and robins trill in the early morning, heard owls hoot deep into the night. But never had he heard such shrill chirping, for it could only be described as such, from Aunt Pearl's kitchen.

Ten minutes later a sobbing little girl stumbled out of it. Aunt Pearl stood in the doorway, her eyes hard as ice.

Steven's heart sank as Elyne fled, knowing that after his betrayal, she would likely not trust him for a long time.

"Did you thrash her?" Steven asked timidly as he approached.

Aunt Pearl withered him with a glance. "Of course I didn't, Steven." said she. "She's not my baby."

"So you only hit me!?" cried Steven incredulously. "That's not fair at-"

"Don't you have anything to do, Steven?" she said suddenly, cutting him off.

"No? Why?" Steven asked.

That, of course, was a mistake.

The rest of that day was spent in the scullery. Steven never really understood why all those pots and pans had to be scrubbed. They'd be cleaned and dirtied and cleaned, only to be used again. It seemed logical, at least to him, to at least get a few uses out of it first before cleaning it.

He'd brought up this obviously ingenious idea to Aunt Pearl once. Once. She gasped as though taken by the simple wonder, the sheer brilliance of his idea. He gasped, only seconds later, as his remaining quota of dishes was redoubled.

The rest of the spring and early summer for Steven was quiet. Onion couldn't play until his arm was mended. Elyne had been so shaken by whatever Aunt Pearl said to her that she avoided all of the boys. Ellie he never really liked anyway and Pinto was... well, Pinto. Effectively, Steven had no options left.

Playtime out of the question, the boys spent those warm summer days in the fields, atop stacks of hay, watching the farmhands at work and listening to their stories. 

As it happened, during that particular summer the men on Alger's Farm were talking about the battle of I'chir Gelar, the most cataclysmic event in the history of the West. Steven and Pinto listened, enthralled, as the men unfolded the story of how Black Diamond's hordes has suddenly struck into the West some five centuries before.

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It had all begun in 5081, as men reckoned time in that part of the world, when vast multitudes of Isyakeans, Drakans and Indratu had struck down across the mountains of the eastern escarpment into Q'zarnia, and behind them in endless waves came uncountable numbers of Alabastians.

After Q'zarnia had been brutally razed to the ground, the combined Alabastian hordes turned their attention southward to the grasslands of the Ainé. For eight straight years they had laid siege to the Ainurean Stronghold, until, in disgust, Black Diamond abandoned it. It was not until she turned her army towards the neutral state of Phenai-Dia that the other kingdoms became aware that this attack was not only meant for the collective Sangrian races, but against the West itself.

It came to pass that in the summer of 5091, the armies of Black Diamond took passage through the Flaxen plains until they arrived before the city of I'chir Gelar, and it was there that the combined forces of the West awaited her. 

The Delmarvians who participated in that battle were under the leadership of Ophidian, the Steward of Hrod. That force, consisting of Hrodenites, Delmarvians, and Southern Flaxen, had attacked from the rear after the left had been engaged minutes prior by the Ainur, Q'zareen and the Phenae, and the right by the Wy-Ates and Shwareans. The front of their ranks was decimated by the legendary Charge of the Gelarian Brigade. Upon their corundrum-tipped lances fell ten, twenty, fifty Alabastians each, and the longer the battle raged, the more that fell. Thus and so, it continued as such until the booming voice of Ophidian rang out across the battlefield, challenging Black Diamond to trial by single combat. Almost as if on cue, the collective ranks of both Alabastia and the Western nations ceased their fighting. Upon this duel would be decided the outcome of the battle, and everyone knew it.

Although twenty odd generations had passed since that monolithic encounter, it was still fresh in the memory of all Delmarvian farmers as though it was only yesterday. In painstaking detail was each blow described, each feint and each parry. At the final moment, when it seemed inevitable that the man would fall before the wrath of a God, Ophidian had cast aside the cloth upon his shield, and Black Diamond, pausing in confusion, was instantly struck down in the moment of her lowered guard.

For Pinto, the mere recounting of this tale sent his Flaxen blood aflame. For Steven however, this raised more questions than answers. 

"Why was Ophidian's shield covered?" he asked the farmer.

He shrugged in response. "I dunno. It just was." He replied. "Everyone I've ever shared the story with agrees on that."

Steven's brow furrowed. "So... was it a magic shield?"

"It might have been." shrugged the farmer again. "Whatever it was, when Ophidian revealed his shield, One-eye dropped hers, and he ran her through her bad eye into the back of her skull."

Steven was getting tired of his shrugging. "But I don't understand!" He cried, exasperated. 

"How could one dumb shield have won us the war?"

"I can't say." said the farmer. "I've never heard anyone explain it."

Thoroughly unsatisfied with both the story's ending and the farmer's continued nonchalance, Steven left them behind, with Pinto following after. 

When Pinto offered to re-enact the battle, Steven, seeing a chance for potential insight, readily agreed.

Two sets of pots and kettles disappeared mysteriously from Aunt Pearl's kitchen that evening, and Pinto and Steven, now armed to the teeth, locked sticks with each other in an epic battle that would once again decide the fate of the world.

It all went quite splendidly until Pinto, older and stronger than Steven, landed a crushing blow upon the side of his helm with his stick, causing the kettle rim to bite deep into the side of Steven's head. Blood began to flow. There was a sudden ringing in Steven's ears, and he felt something come alive and spread like wildfire through his veins, as he raised his weapon in burning exultation against Pinto, no, Black Diamond herself.

He never quite recalled the outcome of that battle. Only the distant echoes of shouting in his mind. Words of defiance cried out in rage against the Dread Diamond and Pinto's face blurring away into something hideous, something monstrous, which in livid fury, Steven had struck at with every once of strength he had, over and over again.

And then it was over. Poor Pinto laid there, broken and unconscious at his feet. Beaten to within an inch of his life. Steven was horrified by what he had done, but at the same time, he felt a strange sense of triumph.

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"If you're going to make a habit out of this, Steven, you're going to get a permanent job as a scullion for the rest of the summer." Aunt Pearl said without even looking up.

Then she stood and examined Pinto. She grabbed a few cloths from the clothesline and dipped them in icy-cold water. Steven wondered how she had gotten the water ready so quickly on a hot midsummer day, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Aunt Pearl dabbed lightly at each raised bump on Pinto's head, then left the cloth on as she poured one of her mysterious mixtures gently down his throat.

"That should do it. Now," Aunt Pearl said calmly, turning her attention to Steven. "Your turn."

The cut on Steven's brow required a bit more attention. She had Bismuth hold him down as she took a needle and thread to his forehead, stitching the wound as patiently as you would when fixing a rip in one's clothing, all the while ignoring the howls of her patient. 

When it was over, Steven walked away with a raging headache.

He was surprised with the overall reaction his injury elicited from her. He vaguely remembered how anxious Aunt Pearl had been when he was younger, chasing him down like a runaway hen, babbling hysterically all the while, as he waddled toward the pitchfork shed.

"I finally beat Black Diamond." Steven mumbled groggily as Aunt Pearl set him to bed.

She turned sharply.

"What? Who told you about the Diamond?" she demanded.

"It's Black Diamond, Aunt Pearl." he explained patiently.

"Answer me Steven."

"The farmers were talking about it down in the fields. That's who Pinto and I were playing as. I was pretending that he was Black Diamond and I was Ophidian." Steven explained.

Aunt Pearl came to his side and gripped him firmly.

"Steven, listen to me very carefully. I never want to hear you speak of this Diamond again. Understand?

"It's Black Diamond, Aunt P-"

He was silenced by a sharp slap across his mouth. It surprised him more than it hurt him though, for it wasn't a hard slap. He teared up a little.

"You don't have to get so angry about it." He said in an injured tone.

"Promise me, Steven."

"Okay. I promise. It was just a game, Aunt Pearl."

"A really bad one." She replied. "You might have killed Pinto."

"What about me?" Steven asked.

"You were never in any danger," said she. "Now go to sleep, Steven."

As he began to drift off, his head light from the injury and the bitter mixture his Aunt gave him, he heard from far, far away, a voice mention his name. "Oh Steven, my baby, you're still far too young for this.". And later, rising from deep sleep as a fish rises towards the pond's silvery surface, he seemed to hear her call out into the darkness.

"Father. I need you."

Then he plunged again into the dark folds of sleep. Haunted by a dark figure of a man on a black horse, watching with cold animosity that bordered on the edge of fear, and behind that man, someone he had always known to be there but never overtly acknowledged, even to his Aunt Pearl. A face. Maimed and ugly, like the one Pinto's had shifted into, looming over him, like dark ominous clouds on the horizon signalling an oncoming storm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father? Who might that be I wonder :)


	6. The Wolf Who Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend of the farm revisits Steven and his Aunt, only this time, he gets to know him a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A little bit of repeat history folks.
> 
> But pay close attention, there are lines being drawn here. Connections that will mean something in the chapters to come.

In the endless summer days of Steven's boyhood, between playing with wild abandon with his farmyard friends and helping Aunt Pearl in her kitchen, he felt the creeping tendrils of boredom slowly seep into his mind as routine began to settle in. Luckily for him, the storyteller appeared once again at Alger's Farm.

The storyteller was a rather peculiar fellow. He hadn't a name. Not a proper one anyway. Everyone called him a different nickname, and he seemed, almost on instinct, to know when it was him that was being called. He was, by any measure, a thoroughly disreputable old man. It was impossible to tell if his pants had any of their original fabric left, for all the patches it had, and his toes were wiggling out of his mismatched shoes. He wore a long-sleeved, brown woollen tunic that was so worn, it felt like a burlap sack to the touch, though he insisted it was comfy. It was hooded, an uncommon sight in those parts of Delmarvia, and so Steven thought it quite fine how its loosely fitting yoke neatly covered his shoulders and back. His cloak, however, seemed relatively new.

The old man's white hair was cropped quite close, as was his beard. Despite that, he seemed far from feeble. His face was strong, and had a kind of angularity to it that suggested he must have been quite the heartthrob in his youth. Though, there was no clue in his facial features that suggested any sort of descent Steven was familiar with. He wasn't Wy-Atian, Flaxen, Ainur, Delmarvian, Hroden nor Shwaran, but seemed rather to have been derived from some ancient stock long since forgotten. His eyes, however, were his most prominent feature. They were a piercing teal blue, within which glinted the elusive sparks of youth and mischief.

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He appeared from time to time on Alger's Farm, and was always welcome. He was, in truth, a wandering vagabond. His stories weren't always new ones, indeed, some of them Steven had heard since he was but a wee babe, but there was a certain magic in his telling of them. He was a master of mimicry. Each time Steven saw him, he seemed to add a new voice to his repertoire. He could bellow and roar with all the might of the dragons of old, then bring it down to a zephyr-like whisper. He could imitate the voices of a dozen men, sometimes all at once. He could chirp so well that the birds themselves would come to hear what he had to say, and when he howled at the moon, it could raise the hairs on the backs of even the most grown of the farmhands and strike chills into the hearts of even the most experienced of Q'zarnian writers. He could recreate the sound of rain and of wind and most miraculously, the sound of falling snow. His stories were never filled with just words but all the sounds of the natural world that made them come alive, and through the sounds and the words with which he wove the tales, sight and smell and even the very feel of those strange times and places seemed to come to life for his listeners.

All of this wonder, he exchanged freely for but a few tankards of ale, meals, and a warm spot of hay on which to sleep in the barn. He roamed the world seemingly as free of mortal worry and belongings as the birds themselves, save for one instrument, his prized lute.

His lute he kept on his person at all times, and he cherished it as one would a long lost lover, found again after a century's search. He wasn't as good with it as he was with his spoken craft, but it was enough to enrapture Steven all the same. Steven had approached it one night as he lay sleeping, and tried to pick up to pluck a few of its strings, only to have his hand be seized by another that shot out and caught him in the dark. Steven marveled that one so old could still be so quick, and mentally noted that for future reference.

That was his first personal interaction with the Old Wolf.

Yes, Old Wolf, as Aunt Pearl would call him. Between her and the old man, there seemed to be some sort of hidden recognition, though Steven knew not what. She always viewed his arrival with a kind of wry acceptance, knowing that the ultimate treasures of her kitchen, her culinary creations, would never be safe so long as he lurked about the area. Entire loaves and hot cakes would go missing when he was around, and his quick knife, ever-ready, could neatly carve the most carefully prepared chicken of a pair of drumsticks and a generous slab of breast meat with three swift slices while her back was turned.

Truly, of the infinitudes of nicknames attributed to him, Old Wolf was the most fitting, and his reappearance on the farm meant the resumption of a contest which had obviously been going on for years. He flattered her shamelessly, outrageously, even as he stole from her. An offered plate of cookies would be politely refused only to have half its contents be stolen as she turned to move elsewhere. Her beer stocks may as well have been delivered to him at the gate for all the effort she took in rationing it.

It was as if pilferage was one of his life's greatest delights, and even if her iron gaze, legendary amongst man and gem alike, was turned upon him, he could easily find a dozen more confederates willing to do the job for him in exchange for a story.

Lamentably for Aunt Pearl, one of his most prolific disciples was none other than Steven himself.

Often, driven to the point of distraction by having to watch an old thief and his fledgling at once, she would simply equip the nearest broom and drive them both out of her kitchen, leaving shrilly uttered words and resounding blows in her wake. And the old storyteller, laughing and snorting, would flee with his young protégé to some secluded spot to enjoy the spoils of their pilferage over a story and a song.

The best stories, of course, were saved for the dining hall when, after the evening meal was over and the plates had been carried away, the old man would rise from his spot, lute in hand, and begin the process of carrying his listeners off into a land of magical enchantment.

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"Tell us of the beginnings, old friend." Said Farmer Alger, ever pious. "And of the Diamonds." he added.

"Hmmmm. Of beginnings.. and the Diamonds eh?" the Old Wolf mused. "A fan favourite, Alger, but a dry and dusty one."

"You find everything dry and dusty, Old Wolf," said Aunt Pearl, drawing off a tankard of foamy ale for him.

"It's one of the hazards of my profession, Mistress Pearl." he explained. He gratefully accepted the tankard, then drank deep from its depths. He lowered his head in thought for but a moment, then stared directly, or so it seemed, at Steven.

Then he did something he had never done before in all the days he had told stories at the hall.

He drew up his cloak about him and rose to his full height.

"Behold," he began, his voice rich and sonorous "At the beginning of all days made the Diamonds the world, and the seas within, the skies above and the dry land below. And cast they the stars across the night sky and did set the sun and his wife, the moon, in the heavens to bear light upon the world."

"And the Diamonds caused the Earth to bring forth its beasts, and the water to bud with fish, and the sky to flower with birds."

"From shining stone, they made Gem-kind, flawless and eternal, in reflection of their own perfection, and from the earth sprung the first Men, resilient and sturdy and strong. To them was bequeathed the Earth, and they were divided into Peoples."

"The Diamonds themselves were seven in number, and like their people, were all equal, and they were Pink, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Grey and White."

Steven knew the story of course, as far as he knew, everyone did in that part of Delmarvia. He wondered if he was the only one who questioned why the colour spectrum deviated at Blue.

Though the tale was familiar, he had never heard it told in such a way. His mind soared upon the high currents of imagination as he envisioned the Diamonds themselves striding across the world in those dim, misty days when the world was first being made. A chill came over him at each mention of the forbidden name of White Diamond.

He listened intently how each Diamond selected a people. For Pink the Sangrians, for Orange the Shwar, for Yellow the Flaxen, for Green the Olivines, for Blue the Lazulites, which are no more, and for White, the Alabastians. And he heard of how Grey dwelt apart and considered the stars in her solitude, and how some very few people she accepted as her disciples.

Steven took a glance at the others who were listening. Their faces were rapt with their undivided attention. Bismuth's eyes were wide, Farmer Alger's face was pale, tears gathering in his eyes, and Pinto's hands were gripping the edge of his seat tightly. Through it all, he noticed how Aunt Pearl stood in the rear of the room. Though it wasn't chilly that summer night, she had drawn her shawl about her and stood very straight and still. Her eyes intent.

"And it came to pass," the storyteller continued, "That Grey Diamond, through quiet pondering, saw the wisdom to create a jewel in the shape of a globe, and behold within the jewel was captured in part the essence of all creation, the light from the stars above, a fraction of the power of every living creature below. And great was the enchantment upon the artifact Men soon called The Grey Ward, for, with it, Grey Diamond saw all that was, all which had been, and all which had yet to be."

Steven realised he was holding his breath tight, for he was now completely spellbound by the tale. He listened in wonder as the usurper White Diamond stole the Ward and used it to sunder the earth and let in the sea to drown the land, until the Ward struck back against its grave misuse by corrupting the left side of her face and rendering inert her left hand and eye.

The old man paused to drain the rest of his tankard. Aunt Pearl, with her shawl still close about her, brought him another, her movements somehow stately and her teal eyes aflame.

"I've never heard- well, I've never seen it being told like that." Bismuth said softly.

"It's The Book of the Sangrians. It's told only in the presence of Kings." replied an old farmer. "I knew a man once who had heard it at the King's Court in Delmarvia. Never heard it all before though."

The story continued, recounting how Gregarion the Sorcerer had led Wy-Ate of Sangria and his three children into the East to reclaim the Ward some two thousand years later, and how the western lands were settled and guarded against the hosts of Alabastia. The Diamonds withdrawn from the world, Hrodenheid was tasked to safeguard the Ward in his fortress on The Shivering Isles. There he forged his great sword and set the Ward upon its hilt. While the ward remained there and Hrodenheid sat upon the throne, Black could not prevail.

Then Gregarion sent his favourite daughter to Hrodenheim to be a mother to a line of kings, while his other daughter remained with him and learned his art, for the mark of sorcerers was upon her.

The old storyteller's voice was now very soft as his ancient tale drew to a close.

"And between them, did Gregarion and his daughter, the Sorceress Polina, set enchantments upon the world itself, to keep watch against the coming of the Black One. And some men say they shall abide against it forevermore, for it is prophesied that Black Diamond shall indeed return again, with all the fury of the East combined, and in time where battle shall be joined between her and the fruit of the line of Hrod, shall the fate of the world be decided once more."

And then the old man fell silent, letting his tired shoulders droop and his cloak fall from his arms, signifying that his tale was at an end.

There was a long silence in the hall then, broken only by a few faint crackles from the dying fire and the incessant song of frogs and crickets in the summer air outside.

Finally, Alger cleared his throat and stood up, his bench scraping audibly on the wooden floor.

"You have done us much honour this night, my friend." He said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is an event, make no mistake, that we will remember all our lives. That story is a kingly gift you've bestowed upon us, not usually wasted on ordinary folk."

The old man grinned then under his hood, his blue eyes a'twinkling with mischief.

"I haven't consorted with many kings of late, Alger." He laughed. "They all seem to be too busy to listen to old tales, and a story must be told from time to time if it is not to be lost."

"Besides," He continued. "Who knows these days where a king might be hiding?"

They all laughed at that and began to push back their benches, for it was growing late and time for those who had to be up the following morn with the first light of sun to seek their warm beds.

Steven made to do the same, when he was stopped at the shoulder by a hand.

"Will you carry a lantern for me to the place where I sleep, boy?" asked the old man.

"Of course." said Steven, jumping up and running into the kitchen.

As he turned away, Steven saw a strange look pass between the storyteller and Aunt Pearl, who still stood at the back of the hall.

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"Why was the story left unfinished?" asked Steven as they walked. "Why did you stop before we found out what happened between Black Diamond and the Hroden King?"

"That's another story." the old man remarked.

"Will you tell it to me sometime?"

"See, now that's going to be hard, considering it hasn't happened yet."

Steven stopped for a beat. Something didn't add up in his sensible mind.

"It is only a story though, right?" Steven asserted.

"Is it?" The old man produced a tankard of ale and took a swig. "Who's to say what is only a story, and what is the truth disguised as a story?"

"It's only a story." Steven stubbornly reiterated, suddenly feeling very practical like any good-headed Delmarvian. "It can't really be true. Why, that would mean that Gregarion the Sorcerer would be... errr... well, I don't know how old, and humans DO NOT live that long."

"Seven thousand years old." The old man replied.

"What?"

"Gregarion the Sorcerer." the old man said while appearing to ponder, "Should be around seven thousand years old now by my estimate."

"That's impossible."

"Is it? How old are you?"

"Ten. Eleven next year."

"My, my, ten years on this Earth and you already know what's both possible and impossible? You're a remarkable boy, Steven."

Steven flushed. "Well." he said, suddenly unsure of himself. "The oldest man I know is old Sputnik and he lives over on the other side of the road. Bismuth says he's over ninety and that he's the oldest man in the district."

"And it's a very big district, of course." said the old man solemnly.

"How old are you, sir?" Steven asked.

"Old enough, boy."

"It's still only a story though." said Steven, a measure of his confidence returned.

"Many good and solid men would say so, Steven." the old man said. "Good men who will live out their lives believing only in what they can see and what they can touch. But there's a world out there that lives by its own laws, Steven. A world which knows about the laws of this one but does not care to be constrained by it. And what may be impossible here, may very well be possible over there. Sometimes, the boundaries between both worlds may even disappear, and then who's to say what's possible and impossible anymore?" He mused further.

"I think I'd rather live here." Steven said, his mind whirling with the information. "The other world sounds so complicated."

"We don't always have that choice, Steven." The old man said, turning to face him directly. "What if someday the other world chooses you to do something that must be done? Some great and noble deed?"

"Me?" said Steven incredulously.

"Stranger things have happened, Steven. Now go off to bed. Your Aunt Pearl must be looking for you." he said, dismissing Steven. "The stars and I have a lot to talk about."

"The stars?" said Steven, glancing up at the sky. What did any of their conversation have to do with the stars?

"You're a very strange old man sir, if you don't mind my saying so." Steven blurted out.

A soft silence settled for a moment, then it was broken again.

"Yes, quite," he replied. "Probably the strangest you'll meet."

"B-but I like you anyway!" Steven added, not wanting to upset his mentor.

He swore he saw the beginnings of a wry-old half smile curl his lip.

"That's a nice thought, Steven." said the old man. "Now, leave, before she starts screaming at the both of us."

And with that, Steven hurried off to bed.

Later that night, in restless sleep, Steven saw, as he did the night before, troubling visions of Black Diamond, her cankered, corrupted visage looming over him. He saw vicious, twisted, abnormal things chase him across vile hellscapes, where the possible and impossible merged into a perverse reality as that other world reached out to claim him.

 


	7. No Place For Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven and the Storyteller make a quick trip into the nearest town on an errand. They meet someone unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this part of the story, we develop the storyteller's relationship with Steven a little.
> 
> Character Development Episode again. I'm sorry my dudes.

Some mornings after, when Aunt Pearl's tolerance of him had gone from wry half-smiles to deepening scowls, the old man made an excuse of some errand to run in the nearby village of Upper Geralt.

"Good." Aunt Pearl said, somewhat rudely. "At least my kitchen will be safe while you're gone."

He bowed mockingly before her, his eyes twinkling as they so often did.

"Would you require anything, Mistress Pearl?" He asked. "Something from the market perhaps, while I'm to be away?"

Aunt Pearl thought for a moment.

"Some of my spice pots _are_ a bit low..." she mused. "And there's a Shwarean spice merchant in Fereldan Lane just south of the town tavern. I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding the _tavern_ , so I trust you can find him as well."

"The trip is likely to be long." admitted the Old Wolf pleasantly. "And lonely too. Ten leagues with no one to walk with is a long way."

"Talk to the birds then." quipped Aunt Pearl.

"Birds are well and good, Miss Pearl, but their speech gets a bit repetitive I'm afraid. Why don't I take Steven along instead?"

Steven, who was sitting nearby, scrubbing a pot for the umpteenth time, held his breath.

"He's picking up enough bad habits of his own, Old Wolf," said Aunt Pearl tartly. "I'd prefer he not have expert instruction."

"Why, Mistress Pearl!" the old man objected, stealing a cookie almost absently off the table, "you do me a most grievous injustice. A change of scenery might do the boy well - broaden his horizons, you might say."

"His horizons are quite broad enough, thank you."

Steven's heart sunk.

"Although," she continued, "at least I know that with Steven there, I can count on him not to forget my spice altogether, or to become so befuddled with ale that he mixes up peppercorn with cloves or cinnamon with nutmeg."

"Very well," she conceded, "you may take Steven with you; but I might I remind you that he has no business visiting those places you so often do, Old Wolf."

"Well, I never, Mistress Pearl! These attacks on my reputation are uncalled for!" said he, feigning shock. "When would I have ever?"

Aunt Pearl scoffed.

"I know you far too well, Old Wolf," she said dryly. "You take to vice and corruption like a fish to water."

She began moving back towards the kitchen, but stopped at the doorway. The old man took her turning as his cue to leave and motioned for Steven to follow.

"I warn you though," her voice took on the quality of ice. "If I hear that you've taken the boy to any unsavoury places... You and I will have words."

The old man, his back turned, smiled wryly, wilfully ignoring the dreadful intensity of the two azure lasers boring into his back.

"Then I'll have to make sure you don't hear of it, won't I?" he dared reply.

Aunt Pearl's iron gaze turned molten.

"I'll see what spices I need." She said slowly, deliberately  her voice deadly low as she crossed through the portal into the kitchen.

"And I'll borrow a horse and cart from Alger." said the old man, his mouth half-full from another stolen cookie.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In no time at all, Steven found himself bouncing along the road on a cart beside the old man, behind a fast-trotting horse. It was bright and sunny that day. There were a few dandelion-puff clouds in the sky and deep blue shadows under the hedgerows.

After a few hours, however, the sun's heat became unbearable, and the jolting, rickety ride tiresome.

"Are we there yet?" asked Steven for the third time.

"Nope. And we won't be for some time. Ten leagues is a goodly distance, Steven."

"I was there once," Steven said, trying to sound casual. "Of course, I was only a child at the time so I don't remember too much about it. It seemed a fine place though." He continued.

He didn't notice the old man suppressing a chuckle at the statement. Only a child indeed.

"It's a village, much like any other." shrugged the old man. He seemed a bit preoccupied.

Steven, hoping to nudge the old man into a story to make the miles go faster, began peppering him with questions.

"Why is it that you have no name-- if it's not rude of me to ask?"

"I go by many names," the old man said, scratching his scruffy white beard. "Almost as many names as I have years on this Earth."

"I've only got the one." said Steven.

"For now."

"What?"

"You only have one so far," the old man explained. "In time, you might get another, or even several. Some people collect names like acorns throughout their whole lives, and some names wear out, just like my clothes."

"Aunt Pearl calls you Old Wolf." Steven said.

"I know," the old man said absently. "Your Aunt Pearl and I have known each other for a _very_ long time."

"Why _does_ she call you that?"

"Who can say why a woman such as your Aunt does anything?"

"Can I call you Mister Wolf?" Steven asked. Names were quite important to Steven, and the fact that the old, portly storyteller did not seem to have a fixed one always bothered him. It seemed to leave him incomplete and unfinished, like the stories he'd so often tell.

The old man looked at him for but a moment, deep in thought, then burst out laughing.

"Mister Wolf indeed." he sighed. "How very appropriate. I think I like _that_ name more than any other name I've had in years."

"May I then?" Steven asked excitedly. "Call you Mister Wolf, I mean?"

"I think I'd like that Shtu-roll. I'd like that very much."

"Shtu what?"

"Now, how's about a story, Steven?" he quickly added, chuckling as a starry-eyed Steven started nodding furiously.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

The time and distance went by much faster afterwards as Mister Wolf regaled Steven with tale after tale of glorious adventures and darkest treacheries, taken from those gloomy days of the Flaxen Civil Wars.

"Why are the Flax like that?" inquired Steven after one particularly grim story.

"The Flaxen are a very noble people," Wolf said, lounging back in the seat of the cart with reins held negligently in one hand. "Nobility isn't a very trustworthy trait. It makes people do things for reasons that can be very obscure."

"Pinto is a Flax." Steven was quick to add. "He sometimes seems to be... well, not very good at catching things, if you know what I mean."

"It's the effect of all that nobility," said Wolf. "They spend so much time concentrating on it that there's no room for much else to enter."

They came over the crest of a high hillock, and there in the next valley lay the village of Upper Geralt. To Steven, the tiny cluster of grey stone houses with slate roofs seemed small. Disappointingly so.

Two roads, stained white by a thick layer of dust, intersected there, and there were a few narrow, winding streets that branched off from it. The houses were square and solid, but seemed almost like toys set out in the valley below. The horizon beyond was ragged with the mountains of Eastern Delmarvia, and though it was summer, the tops of most of the mountains were still capped with snow.

The tired horse plodded down the hill towards the village, his hooves stirring little clouds of dust with each step, and soon they were clattering along the cobblestone streets towards the centre of the village.

The villagers, of course, were all too important to pay any attention to an old man and a small boy in a farm cart. The women wore gowns and high-pointed hats, and the men wore doublets and soft-velvet caps. Their expressions were haughty, and they looked upon the few farmers there were in town with obvious disdain. The farmers, conditioned from birth, respectfully stood aside to let them pass.

"They're very fine, aren't they?" Steven observed.

"They certainly seem to think so," said Wolf, amused. "I think it's time we found a place to eat, don't you?"

Though he had not realised it until the old man mentioned it, Steven was suddenly ravenous.

"Where would we go?" he asked. "They all seem so splendid. Would any of them let strangers sit at their tables?"

Wolf laughed and patted a jingling purse at his waist.

"We shouldn't have a problem making acquaintances," he said. "There are plenty of places where one might buy food."

 _BUY FOOD?_ Steven had never heard of such a thing before. On Alger's Farm, anyone who wandered in during mealtimes was invited to a place at the table as a matter of fact. The world of the villagers was jarringly different from that of the farm.

"But I don't have any money!" Steven objected.

"I've enough for us both, Steven." Mister Wolf assured him. He stopped and moored the horse outside a large, low building with a sign bearing a picture of a large cluster of grapes above a foaming mug. It had words too, but of course, Steven could not read them.

"What do the words say, Mister Wolf?"

"They say that food and drink can be purchased inside," Wolf told him as he got down from the cart.

"It must be a fine thing," Steven said wistfully. "Being able to read."

Steven saw the old man's silhouette on the other side of the horse freeze up suddenly, before he swiftly came around to face Steven.

"You can't read, boy?" He asked incredulously.

"I've never found anyone to teach me," Steven admitted earnestly. "Alger reads, I think. But no one else at the farm does."

Wolf began to spit and sputter, apparently trying hard to find the words to speak.

"That's nonsense!" He cried. "Didn't your Aunt school you and the other children on the basics of reading and writing?"

"What's a school?" Steven asked. "And Aunt Pearl can read and write?"

Wolf, his body seized in apparent apoplexy, looked quite comical standing there frozen, his eyes wide with an expression of outrage plastered across his face. Indeed, the only reaction he gave to Steven's question was a slight twitch of his right eye. Steven, staring blankly back at him, shrugged in response.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

"This is outrageous!" Wolf cried, barging in through the tavern doors.

"Aunt Pearl can **read** **_and_ ** **write**?" asked Steven, stunned.

"Of course she can!" said Wolf irritably. "She says she finds little advantage in it, but she and I had that particular argument out many years ago."

To say that he was upset by Steven's lack of education would be the understatement of the year. He went on to elaborate, but Steven was far too interested in the smoky interior of the tavern to pay much attention.

The room was large and dark with a low, beamed ceiling and a stone floor strewn with rushes and bracken. Though it was not a cold day, a fire burned in a stone pit in the centre of the room, smoke rising errantly toward a chimney set above it on four stone pillars. Tallow candles stood guttered in clay dishes on several of the long, stained tables, and the smell of stale beer and wine permeated the air.

"What have you in the way of food?" Wolf asked the barkeep.

"We've a bit of joint left," the man said, pointing at a spit resting to one side of the fire pit.

"Roasted only a day before yesterday. Our meat porridge's fresh, just cooked yesterday morning, and we've got fresh bread only a week old."

Wolf cocked an eyebrow. Steven seriously doubted this man understood what the word fresh meant.

"Very well," Wolf said as he sat down, "I'll have a pot of your best ale and... milk for the boy."

"Milk?" Steven protested.

"Milk." Wolf affirmed.

"You got the coin?" said the barkeep sourly.

Wolf jingled his purse, and the sour man suddenly looked less sour.

As he strode away, Steven took in the tavern once more. He figured this place would be what Aunt Pearl would term 'unsavoury'. He saw men of all sorts here, scrawny, haggard and dishevelled to gruff, burly, intimidating ones. They minded their own business but looked as though they'd draw swords in a heartbeat if Steven so much as looked at them wrong. The barmaids' clothing left little to the imagination, and the colourful comments and gestures the men would make their way left little Steven at quite a loss for words. He had no idea why anyone would want to see up a girl's skirt. Didn't they all know what was there?

Most puzzling of all, was how people would use the tables as a spot to sleep, here in a smoky, rowdy tavern of all places. It hardly seemed conducive.

"Why is that man over there sleeping?" Steven asked.

"Drunk." Wolf said, scarcely even bothering to glance at the snoring man.

"Shouldn't someone take care of him?"

"He'd rather not be taken care of."

"Do you know him?"

"I do know of him actually," Wolf said somewhat lazily as he drained another long sip of ale from his tankard. "And many others like him. Occasionally, I've been in that position myself."

"Why?"

"It seemed appropriate at the time."

The barkeep arrived with the food shortly after that. The roast was dry and overdone. The meat porridge was thin with the consistency of pond water, and the bread was stale. But Steven didn't care. He was far too hungry.

"It's a nice place." Steven remarked after he was done, more to the objective of making small talk rather than out of any real conviction. In truth, Upper Geralt did not live up to his expectations in the slightest.

"It's adequate." Wolf shrugged. "Village taverns are pretty much the same the world over. I've seldom seen one I'm in a hurry to revisit. Shall we go?" Wolf continued, standing and tossing a few coins, which the sour-looking barkeep quickly snatched up.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------      

Steven winced as he was led out again into the afternoon sunlight. It was far too bright out.

"Let's go find your Aunt's spice merchant," he said. "and then to see to a night's lodging, and a stable for our horse.". They set off down the street, leaving horse and cart by the tavern.

The house of the Shwarean spice merchant was a tall, narrow building in the adjacent street. Two swarthy, thick-bodied men in short tunics loitered in the street at his front door near a fierce looking black horse wearing a curious armoured saddle. The two men stared with dull-eyed disinterest at the passers-by walking down the lane. When Mister Wolf saw them, however, he froze.

"Is something wrong?" asked Steven.

"Drakans." Wolf whispered, looking hard at the two men.

"What?"

"Those two are Drakans." the old man replied. "They usually work as porters for the Isyaki."

"What are Isyaki?"

"The people of Sivu-Isyak." Wolf said shortly. "Southern Alabastians."

"Alabastians? You mean the ones we beat at I'chir Gelar? What are they doing here?"

"The Isyaki have taken up commerce," Wolf said. "I hadn't expected to see one of them in such a remote village."

"We may as well go in now." Wolf continued. "The Drakans have seen us, and it will look weird if we turned around and went back. Stay close to me, Steven, and **don't say a word.** "

They walked past the two heavyset Drakans into the spice shop.

The Shwarean was a thin, bald man wearing an orange gown with sewn gold highlights that stretched down to the floor. He was nervously weighing several packets of pungent-smelling powder which lay on the counter before him.

"G-G-Good d-day to you sir!" he stuttered out. "Please, have patience. I'll attend to you shortly." He spoke with a slight stutter that Steven found peculiar.

"No hurry," Wolf said in a wheezy, cracking voice. Steven sharply turned to regard him and was astonished to see that Mister Wolf had doubled over, reducing his frame considerably, and was foolishly nodding his head.

"See to their needs," said the other man in the shop dismissively. He was a dark, burly man wearing a chain-mail shirt and a short sword belted to his waist. His cheekbones were high, and there were several savage-looking scars on his face. His eyes looked curiously angular, and his voice was harsh and thickly-accented.

"No hurry, no hurry" said Wolf in that peculiar wheezy cackle of his.

"No. You are in a hurry. My business here will take some time," said the Isyaki coldly. "And I prefer not to be rushed. Tell the merchant here what you need, old man."

"My thanks, then" Wolf cackled. "I have a list here somewhere about me... Let me see now..." his voice tapered off.

"My master drew it up," Wolf gave the slip over to the merchant with trembling, feeble looking hands. "I hope you can read it, friend merchant, for I cannot."

The merchant glanced at the list.

"This will only take a moment." he told the Isyaki.

The Isyaki nodded and stood to stare stonily at Wolf, then at Steven. Steven imagined gears ticking like clockwork inside the man's head. _Tick tick tick tick_ . _Ding!_ They went as Steven saw a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.

_Oh shit._

"You're a seemly appearing boy," he said to Steven. "What's your name?"

Up until that moment, for the entirety of the ten years (soon to be eleven) he had lived upon the Earth, Steven had been a truthful, honest boy. But Wolf's mannerisms had opened before his eyes an entire world of deception and subterfuge. All his instincts screamed at him in warning against divulging the truth of his real name. It even had a voice. It was a dry, calm voice and it advised him warily to take steps to protect himself. He hesitated for only a moment before telling his first deliberate lie. He allowed his mouth to drop open and hang there, quite deliberately, for some time, all the while assuming an expression of vacant-headed stupidity.

"Pintooooooooh," he drawled insipidly, then paused to suck in his saliva. "Your Honour." He smiled from ear to ear.

The Isyaki, his eyes narrowing even more, decided to continue his line of questioning.

"Is that a Flaxen name? You don't look like a Flax." he said.

Steven gaped at him.

"Are you a Flaxen, Pintoh?" the Isyaki pressed.

Steven frowned outwardly as though struggling with a difficult thought. But on the inside, his mind was racing. The dry voice suggested several alternatives.

"My.... my father was," he said with difficulty. "But my mother's Delmarvian and people say I favour her."

"Ah! You said _was_." the Isyaki said quickly. "Is he dead then?" His scarred face tightened with intent.

Steven scoffed inwardly. This part came naturally.

He nodded foolishly, just as Wolf did. "A tree he was cutting fell on his head." he lied. "It was a long time ago."

The Isyaki suddenly seemed to lose interest.

"Here's a copper coin for you boy." he said, tossing a coin indifferently at his feet. Wolf made a big show of bending down to pick it up.

"It bears the likeness of her radiance, White Diamond upon it." he continued, ignoring Wolf's groveling. "Maybe it will bring you luck... or in your case, some wits." he said disdainfully.

"Thank the good man, Pinto." Wolf wheezed.

"Thankiew, Your Honour" Steven drawled again, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Wolf paid the Shwarean merchant for his spices and they swiftly left the shop.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------     

When they were out of sight, Wolf gave Steven a regular Delmarvian penny in place of the Alabastian one.

"Hey," Steven said as he palmed the coin in his hand. "This isn't the coin he gave me." he remarked.

Wolf suddenly took him aside, but he did so as quietly as he could. They stepped out of the narrow street into an even narrower alleyway.

"You played a dangerous game, boy." said Wolf.

"You seemed not to want him to know who we were," Steven explained. "I wasn't sure why.. but you were doing it so I just followed you. Was I wrong?"

"No," Wolf said approvingly, "That was quick thinking. Very quick thinking Steven. You even fooled me."

This time Steven saw a smile, an actual smile, not a half smile or the beginnings of a smile, on his face. Steven felt warm inside.

"But unfortunately, it's time for us to leave." he turned away.

"Weren't we going to stay the night?"

"Things have changed. Come along, Steven. It's time we depart."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steven's first brush with the scourge of the East.
> 
> Story's picking up, but bear with me a while longer folks, there's still some preparation to be done, some kindling to be added, some friction to be created, before we can set this story ablaze.


	8. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven asks about his origins. Wolf knows more than he lets on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but the plot thickens considerably.
> 
> I thought to speed up the process abit for you guys so I can hasten the story.  
> Don't worry to those of you who like the slow burn. It's still good CD.. I think.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> P.S. : This chapter mentions Isyaki, and a new term, Marikeen. I'm not going to spoil what a Marek is just yet, but just know that they're a sect of Isyaki.  
> When I think of a specimen of Isyaki, I think of a Skyrim Redguard. Just giving you a mental image here.

The horse was very tired, and he moved slowly at an ambling gait up the long hill out of Upper Geralt as the sun went down ahead of them.

"Why wouldn't you let me keep that penny, Mister Wolf?" Steven persisted. It had been nagging at him the whole time.

"There are many things in this world, Steven," Mister Wolf replied, "that seem to be one thing and are in fact another." He said grimly.

"I don't trust Alabastians, and I don't particularly trust Isyaki either. It would be just as well, I think, if you never had in your possession anything that bears the likeness of White Diamond." He continued.

"But the war between the West and the Alabastians has been over for over five hundred years now," Steven rebutted. "All men say so."

"Not  _all_ men," Wolf said. "Now take that robe from the back of the cart and cover up. Your Aunt would never forgive me should you catch a chill."

"I will if you think I should," Steven replied. "But I'm not a bit cold and I'm not at all sleepy. I'll keep you company as we go."

"That'll be a comfort, boy," Wolf said.

Steven leant back into his seat and turned behind to watch the last of the greystone houses of Upper Geralt disappear over the hill.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mister Wolf," said Steven after some time. "Did you know my mother and father?"

Wolf, who was reclining in his cart seat up until that point, eyes half-lidded, came to attention. Something flickered in his eyes just then.

"Yes," said Wolf quietly.

"My father's dead too, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so."

Steven sighed deeply. "I thought so." he said. "I just wish I could've known them. Aunt Pearl says I was only a baby when--" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "I've tried to remember my mother, but... I never could."

"You were very small, Steven."

"What were they like?"

"They were... ordinary," said Wolf, scratching his beard."So ordinary you wouldn't look twice at either one of them."

Steven was offended by that remark. "Aunt Pearl said my mother was very beautiful." he objected.

"She was."

"Then how can you say she was ordinary?"

"She wasn't a prominent person, or an important one," Wolf said. "Neither was your father. Anyone who saw them thought they were just simple village people-- a young man with a young wife and their baby-- that's all anyone ever saw. That's all anyone was  _supposed_ to see."

"I don't understand."

"It was very complicated."

"What was my father like?"

"Hm. He was medium-sized." Wolf said. "Dark hair. A very serious young man. Everything I wasn't. I liked him."

"Did he love my mother?"

"Oh yes. More than anything."

"And me?"

"Of course."

"What kind of place did they live in?"

"It was a small place," Wolf said, suddenly far away. "a little village near the mountains, a long way from any main roads. They had a cottage at the end of the street. It was a small, solid little thing. Your father built it himself -- he was a stonecutter."

"Aunt Pearl told me he was a lumberjack," Steven interjected.

But Wolf was far too enthralled to hear him. 

"I used to stop by there from time to time, when I was around," he went on. Steven did his best to follow the story of his parents, but the old man's voice had taken on the quality of droning, describing the house, the village and the people who lived there. Steven listened, not even realising it when he fell asleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

It must have been very late, almost on toward the dawn.

In a half-drowse, the boy felt himself lifted from the cart and carried up a flight of stairs.

"Bismuth..." thought Steven as he lifted his eyelids a little. But no, it was the old man.

He was surprisingly strong.

Aunt Pearl was there, of course, he didn't need to open his eyes to know that. There was a particular scent about her that he could have found even in a dark room.

"Just cover him up," he heard Mister Wolf whisper as he set him down. "Best not to wake him now."

"What happened?" Aunt Pearl asked, her voice as soft as the old man's.

"There's a damned Isyaki in town-- at your spice merchant's. He asked questions and tried to give the boy an Alabaster penny."

"Isyaki? Here in Upper Geralt? Are you certain of this?"

"It's impossible to tell. Not even I can distinguish between Isyaki and one of the Marikeen. Not with any certainty anyway."

"What happened to the coin?"

"I was quick enough to get it. I gave the boy a Delmarvian penny instead. If our Isyaki was a Marek, we'll let him follow me. I'm sure I can give him several years of entertainment." said Wolf. 

Steven imagined him smirking as he said that. 

"So you'll be leaving then?" 

Aunt Pearl's voice seemed... no, it was definitely sadness he detected in her voice.

"It's time," Wolf said. "Right now the boy is safe enough here, and I must be abroad. There are things in remote places I  ** _must_**  see to. When Isyaki begin to appear in remote places, I begin to worry. We have a great responsibility and care placed upon us, Pearl, and we mustn't allow ourselves to become careless."

"Will you be gone long?" asked Aunt Pearl.

"Some years, I expect. There are many things I must look into and many people I'll have to see."

"I'll miss you," Aunt Pearl said softly.

The old man chuckled. 

"Sentimentality? From you, Pearl?" he said dryly. "That's hardly in character."

"You know what I mean. I'm not suited for this task you and the others have given me. What do I know about the raising of small boys?"

"You're doing well," Wolf said. "Keep the boy close, and don't let his nature drive you into hysterics."

Steven clutched his blanket tighter as he felt the gaze of two sets of eyes on him.

"Be careful, Pearl. He lies like a champion."

"Steven?" Her voice was shocked.

"He lied to the Isyaki so well that even I was impressed."

" _ **Steven!?**_ " Her voice climbed an octave higher. He suppressed the urge to laugh.

"He's also started asking questions about his parents." Wolf said. "How much have you told him?"

"Very little. Only that they're dead."

"Let's leave it at that for now. There's no point in telling him things he isn't old enough to cope with.... not yet."

Their voices went on, but Steven drifted off into sleep again, his rational mind telling him, over and over, that it was just a dream.

But the next morning when he awoke, Mister Wolf was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really REALLY close to adding new blood to the tale. It's almost there just hold on my dudes.
> 
> So whaddaya think of this whole debacle? Seems to me that there are secrets afoot :)


	9. Of Seasonal Curiosities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven grows a little older, gets a little wiser, digs a little deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Enough build up. This next chapter, not this one, but this next one?
> 
> Ohohohohohohohohoohoho.  
> Yes >:)

**THE SEASONS TURNED,** as seasons will. Summer ripened into autumn, autumns blaze fizzled out into winter. Winter begrudgingly relented to the promise of spring, and spring bloomed into summer again. With the turning of the seasons and so too the years, Steven imperceptibly grew older as well.

As he grew, so too did the other children-- all that is, except poor Onion, who seemed destined to be short and skinny all his life. Pinto sprouted like a young tree, just as his brother Garbonzo did, and soon was just as big as he or any man on the farm was. Elyne and Ellie didn't grow so tall, but they developed in other ways which the boys began to find interesting.

In the early autumn, just before Steven's fourteenth birthday, he came very close to ending his career. In response to some primal urge all children have-- given a pond and a handy supply of logs-- they had built a raft that summer. The raft was neither very large nor was it particularly sturdy. It had the tendency to sink on one end if the weight was distributed unevenly across it, and an alarming habit of coming apart at unexpected moments.

Quite naturally, it was Steven who was aboard the raft--pretending to be a pirate captain--on that autumn day when the raft quite suddenly decided once and for all to revert to its original state. The bindings came all undone, and the logs began to go their separate ways.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._

Was the only thought that ran through Steven's mind as he desperately tried to pole for shore, but his panic only hastened the disintegration of his vessel. In the end, the pirate captain found himself stranded, walking upon a sole floating plank, his arms windmilling wildly in an effort to regain some balance. His eyes, frantically searching for something of aid, swept up the marshy shore. Some distance up the slope behind his friends, his blood turned to ice as he saw--

The familiar figure of the man on the black horse. The man wore a dark robe, and his eyes burned as he stared, watching Steven's plight.

Then the spiteful log rolled under Steven's feet, and he toppled and fell with a resounding splash.

Steven's education, unfortunately, had not included instruction in the art of swimming; and while the pond wasn't really very deep, it was deep enough.

The bottom of the pond was very unpleasant, a kind of dark, weedy ooze inhabited by frogs, turtles and a singularly unsavoury looking black eel that slithered away snake-like when Steven plunged like a stone into the reeds. Steven gasped, struggled for air as he gulped in water, desperately thrashing his legs in some form of propelling motion to at least  _try_ to launch himself out of the water. He felt himself rising.

" _Yes!_ " thought Steven. " _I'm doing it! I'm doing it!_ "

Like a broaching whale, he rose from the depths, gasped a couple of quick, sputtering breaths and heard the screams of his playmates. The dark figure on the slope had not moved, and for a single blinding instant, every detail about that afternoon was etched on Steven's mind.

He observed that, although the rider was in the open under the full glare of the autumn sun,  _neither man nor horse cast any shadow._  As his mind grappled with the impossibility, he sank once more into the inky black depths.

It occurred to him as he struggled amongst the weeds that, if he could launch himself upwards into the vicinity of the logs, he might be able to grab ahold of it and so remain afloat. He waved off a startled-looking tadpole and decided to try for his one chance at survival. He rose again, unfortunately, directly under the log. The blow on the top of his head filled his eyes with light and his ears with a roaring, ringing sound, and he sank, no longer struggling, back toward the weeds which seemed to reach out to grab him.

Then, he felt a hand circle around him just before he lost all vision.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

Steven felt himself lifted roughly by the waist toward the surface and then towed back to shore with powerful, churning strokes. The man pulled the semi-conscious boy out onto the bank, turned him over and stepped on him several times to force the water out of his lungs.

Steven, his conscious mind half in and half out, thought to open his eyes and see the black man looming over him. Then he heard a voice call out:

"Enough! That's enough, Bismuth."

Steven relaxed. He tried to sit up, but the blood from the cut on his forehead from the log collision ran down into his eyes. He wiped the blood clear and strained his neck to look for any sign of the dark, shadowless rider, but just as mysteriously as he had appeared, he was gone. He made to stand, but his world suddenly spun around him, and he fainted.

When he awoke, he was in his own bed, his head wrapped in bandages.

Aunt Pearl stood beside his bed, her sky-blue eyes ablaze. "Steven you stupid, stupid boy!" she cried. "What on earth were you doing in that pond!?"

"Rafting," Steven mumbled, trying to make it sounds ordinary.

"Rafting?" she shrieked. " _Rafting?_  Who gave you the permission to do that!?"

"Well--" Steven replied with uncertainty. "We just--"

"You just what?"

He looked at her helplessly.

And then with a low cry, she took him in her arms and crushed him to her almost suffocatingly.

Briefly, Steven considered telling her about the strange, shadowless figure that had watched his struggles in the pond, but the dry voice in his mind that sometimes spoke to him told him that this was not the time for that. He seemed to know that somehow the business between him and the man on the black horse would be something very private, and the time would come when they would face each other in some kind of contest of will or deed. To speak of it now would involve Aunt Pearl in the matter, and he did not want that.

He knew that the man was an enemy, though he knew not exactly why, and that alone was more than a little frightening to him. There was no question in his mind that Aunt Pearl would be able to deal with him, but if she did, Steven knew that he would lose something very personal and for some reason very important. 

And so he said nothing.

"It wasn't anything at all that dangerous, Aunt Pearl," he said instead, rather lamely. "I was starting to get the idea of how to swim. I'd have been alright if I hadn't hit my head on that log."

"But you did hit your head," she pointed out.

"Well yes, but it wasn't that serious. I'd have been alright in a minute or two."

"Under the circumstances, I'm not sure you had a minute or two," she said bluntly.

"Well--" he faltered, but he decided to let it drop. Aunt Pearl stared hard back at him, her eyes lost in thought.

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That occasion marked the end of his freedom for the entire autumn through. Aunt Pearl confined Steven to the scullery indefinitely, and as a result, he began to know every dent and scratch on every pot intimately. He began to run estimates. He must have washed each one twenty-one times a week. In a seeming orgy of messiness, Aunt Pearl could suddenly not even boil water without dirtying at least three of four pans, and Steven had to wash each one. He hated it and began to seriously entertain the idea of running away.

An autumn progressed, as autumns do, and the weather began to deteriorate. As it did though, the other children began to suffer varying degrees of confinement as well, so maybe his predicament wasn't so bad.

Pinto, of course, was never with them anymore, since his man's size had made him--even more than Steven-- subject to more and more frequent labour. Steven would have felt bad, had he not his brother Garbonzo to keep him company. Ellie was a rather sickly girl and often stayed indoors.

When he could, however, he slipped away to join Onion and Elyne, but they no longer found as much entertainment in leaping into the hay or the endless game of tag in the stables as they used to. They had reached an age and size where adults quickly noticed such idleness and found tasks to occupy them. More often than not, the extent of their interaction now was simply to sit somewhere out of the way and simply talk-- which was to say Steven and Elyne would just sit and listen to Onion's mad ramblings.

That small, quick boy, about as able to keep quiet as he could sit still, could seemingly talk for hours on end about a half-dozen raindrops, and his words tumbled over breathlessly as he fidgeted.

 _"Muhmuhmuhmuhmuhmuh muhmuhmuhmuh muhmuh muh? Muh muhmuhmuhmuh muh"_  Steven mouthed mockingly to Elyne.

She caught the gesture and stifled a quick laugh.

Steven cracked a half-smile at that, for more than one reason.

"What's that on your hand, Steven?" Elyne asked one rainy day, interrupting Onion's constant babbling.

Steven looked at the perfectly round, white patch on the palm of his right hand.

"I've noticed it too," said Onion, quickly changing subjects midsentence. "But you work in the kitchen, don't you Steven? It's probably a place where he burned himself when he was little-- you know, reached out before anyone could stop him and put his hand on something really hot. I'll bet his Aunt Pearl got really angry about that, because she can get angrier faster than anyone I've ever seen, and she can really--"

"It's always been there," Steven said, tracing the mark on his palm with his left forefinger. He never really looked at it this closely before. Upon close inspection, he realised it had a certain light and faint silvery sheen to it.

"Maybe it's a birthmark" suggested Elyne.

"I'll bet that's it," Onion said quickly. "I saw a man once with his  **BIG**  purple one on the side of his face-- one of those wagoneers that--"

Steven and Elyne shared a knowing look and not wanting to upset their old friend, they leaned back on the hay bale to return to their regularly scheduled programme.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------     

That evening, after he'd gotten ready for bed, he asked Aunt Pearl about it.

"What's this mark, Aunt Pearl?" he asked, holding his hand out.

She looked up from where she was brushing her long, lustrous hair.

"It's nothing to worry about, Steven."

"I wasn't worried about it," he said. "I just wondered what it was. Elyne and Onion said it was a birthmark. Is that what it is?"

"Something like that," she said.

"Did either of my parents have the same kind of mark?"

"Your father did, Steven. It's been in your family for a long time."

A sudden, strange thought occurred to Steven. Without knowing why, he reached out and touched the white lock on his Aunt's brow.

"Is it like that white place in your hair?" He began.

Then the thought in his mind was suddenly dispelled as he felt something. Something old and ancient, like the window of a dusty attic that stirs up clouds of dust when opened for the first time in centuries.

At first, there was only the sense of uncountable years moving by like a vast sea of ponderously rolling clouds, and then, sharper than any knife, the feeling of endlessly repeated loss, of sorrow. Of faces old and young, some ordinary and some quite regal looking, fading into obscurity. Then he saw his own face, and behind it, no longer foolish or old, the face of Mister Wolf. But more than anything, there was a knowledge of an unearthly, inhuman power, the certainty of an unconquerable will, set free eons ago, and never to be chained again.

Aunt Pearl calmly regarded Steven for but a moment before brushing his hand aside. He felt the window in his mind shut again.

"Don't do that, Steven." she said.

" ** _What was that?_** " He asked, burning with curiosity and excitement.

"A simple trick."

"Show me how!"

"Not yet, my baby." she said, taking his face between her hands. "No, no, not yet, you're not ready yet, Steven. Now go to sleep."

"You'll be here?" he asked, a little frightened now.

She kissed him on his brow, and begun humming a strange lullaby in a deep, melodious tone.

"Always."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stand by for take-off my dudes.


	10. The Winter of our Discontent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some unexpected guests find their way to the farm.

**AFTER THAT,** not even Steven saw the mark on his palm very often. There suddenly seemed to be all kinds of dirty jobs for him to do which kept not only his hands, but the rest of him dirty as well.

Steven chalked it up to the approaching end-year celebrations'. The most important holiday in Delmarvia, and indeed in the rest of the Kingdoms of the West, was The New Year. It commemorated that day, eons before, when the seven Diamonds joined hands to create the world with a single thought.

The New Year Festival began in midwinter, and, because there was little to do on a farm like Alger's during that season, it had, by custom, become a splendid two-week celebration with feasts and gifts and decorations honouring the Diamonds. These last, of course, were a reflection of Alger's piety. Alger, though he was a good, simple man, had no illusions about just how widely his sentiments were shared by others on the farm. He still thought, however, that some outward show of devotional activity was in keeping with the season, and because he was such a good master, everyone on the farm chose to indulge him.

It was also at this season however, that Alger's married daughter, Helena, made their customary annual visit to remain on speaking terms with her father. Helena had no intention of endangering her inheritance rights by seeming inattention. Her visits, however, were a trial to Alger, who looked upon his daughter's somewhat overdressed and supercilious husband, a minor functionary in a commercial house in the capital city of Delmar, with ill-concealed contempt.

Their arrival, however, marked the beginning of the New Year Festival at Alger's Farm; so, while no one cared for them personally, their appearance was always greeted with a certain enthusiasm.

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The weather that year, however, had been particularly foul-- even for Delmarvia. The rains had settled in very early and was soon followed by a period of soggy snow-- not the crisp, white powder which came later in the winter, but the gross, damp slush that was always half-melting and disgusting to wade through.

For Steven, whose duties in the kitchen prevented him from joining with his former playmates in their traditional pre-holiday get-together of anticipatory excitement, the approaching holiday seemed somehow flat and stale. He yearned back to the good old days and often sighed with regret and moped about the kitchen like a raven-haired storm cloud of doom.

Even the traditional decorations in the dining hall, where New Year activities often took place, seemed decidedly tacky to him that year. The fir boughs festooning the ceiling beams were somehow not as green, and the polished apples carefully tied to the boughs were smaller and not as red. He sighed some more and proceeded to wallow further in self-pity.

Aunt Pearl, however, was not impressed, and her attitude was firmly unsympathetic. She routinely checked his brow with her hand for signs of a fever and then dosed him with the foulest-tasting tonic she could concoct. Steven was more careful to hold his moping sessions in private and sigh less audibly after that. That dry, secret part of his mind informed him matter-of-factly that he was being ridiculous, but Steven didn't care. That voice in his mind seemed older and wiser than he, but it also seemed to want to take all the fun out of life. Not this time. This time Steven would continue moping however long he wanted, Diamonds be damned, and there was nothing the voice, or anyone else could say that would change his mind about that.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

On the morning of the New Year, an Isyaki and five Drakans appeared with a wagon outside the gate and asked to see Alger. Steven, who had long since learned that no one pays attention to a boy and that many interesting things can be learned by placing himself athwart a position where one could casually overhear conversations, busied himself with a small, unimportant chore at the gate.

The Isyaki, his face scarred much like the face of the one in Upper Geralt, sat importantly on the wagon seat, his chain-mail shirt clinking each time he made a movement. He wore a dark, black-hooded robe, and his sword was much in evidence. His eyes shifted constantly, taking in everything.

The Drakans, in muddy felt boots, lounged disinterestedly against the wagon, seemingly indifferent, if not apathetic, to the raw wind ripping across the snowy fields at their backs.

Alger, in his finest doublet--for it was the New Year after all--came across the yard, followed closely by Helena and her husband.

"Good morrow, friend," said Alger to the Isyaki. "A joyous New Year to you."

The Isyaki grunted. "You are, I take it, the farmer, Alger?" he asked in his thick, heavily accented voice.

"I am." Alger replied.

"I understand you have a goodly number of hams on hand--well cured."

"The pigs did do well this year," Alger answered modestly.

"I will buy them," the Isyaki announced, jingling his purse.

Alger bowed. "First thing  ** _tomorrow_**  morning," he said.

It was snowing hard, almost like a blizzard, but Steven could still see the faces of all involved staring at Alger incredulously from where he was at the gate.

"This is a pious household." Alger continued calmly. "Please do not offend the Diamonds by breaking the sanctity of the New Year."

"Father!" snapped Helena. "Don't be foolish! This noble merchant has come a long way to do business!"

"Not on this blessed day," Alger said stubbornly, his long face firm.

"In the city of Delmar," Einhorn said in his rather high-pitched nasally voice, "we do not let sentimentality interfere with business."

"Then you are welcome to conduct the transaction there if the need is so urgent," replied Alger flatly. "But this is Alger's Farm, and on Alger's Farm, we do not do business on New Year's Day."

" _Father!_ " Helena protested. "The noble merchant has gold! Gold, father, gold!"

"I will hear no more of this." Alger announced. He turned to the Isyaki. "You and your servants are welcome to join us in our celebration, friend," he said. "We can provide quarters for you and the promise of the finest dinner in all of Delmarvia and the opportunity to honour the Diamonds on this special day. No man is made poorer by attending to his religious obligations."

At the mention of dinner and the promise of lodging, the Isyaki's expression softened, if only slightly. Still, he persisted--

"We do not observe this holiday in Sivu-Isyak," said the scar-faced man coldly. "As the noble lady says, we have come a long way to do business and haven't the time to tarry. I'm sure there are other farmers about the district with the merchandise I require."

" _FATHER!?_ " Helena wailed.

"I know my neighbours," replied Alger evenly. "Be your need so dire, you are certainly welcome to try any of them, but you will not have much luck, I fear. The observance of this day is a firm tradition in the area."

The Isyaki pondered the old man's words carefully.

"It may be as you say." said he, finally. "I do not know this area as well as you do, but I trust that should I accept your invitation, you would not cheat me out of a fair deal at dawn's first light."

Steven thought it odd that someone offering hospitality to another would think to do that, but continued idling.

Alger bowed. "I place myself at your service at daybreak, should you so desire."

"Done, then." said the Isyaki, as he climbed down from his wagon.

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 In time, all was ready. The tables were loaded, the fires in the fireplaces burned brightly. Dozens of candles filled the hall with golden light, and torches flared in their rings on the stone pillars. Alger's people, all in their best clothes, filed into the hall, their mouths watering with anticipation.

When all were seated, Alger rose from his bench at the head of the centre table.

"Dear friends," he began, lifting his tankard. "I dedicate this feast to the Gods."

"The Gods," the people responded in unison, rising respectfully.

Alger drank briefly, and all followed suit.

"Hear me, O Great Diamonds above," he prayed. "Most humbly we thank you for the bounty of this fair world which you made on this day, and we dedicate ourselves to your service for yet another year."

He looked for a moment as though he were going to say more, but sat down instead. Alger always laboured for many hours over special prayers for occasions such as this, but the agony of speaking in public invariably erased the words so carefully prepared from his mind. His prayers, therefore, always ended up sounding very short, but in return, very sincere.

"Eat, dear friends," he instructed. "Do not let the food grow cold."

And so they ate. Helena and Einhorn, who join them all at this one meal only at Alger's insistence, devoted their conversational efforts to the only one in the room who was worthy of their attention.

"I have long thought to visit Sivu-Isyak." Einhorn stated rather pompously. "Don't you agree, friend merchant, that greater contact between east and west is the way to overcome those mutual suspicions which have so marred our relationships in the past?"

"We Isyaki prefer to keep to ourselves," the Isyaki replied curtly.

"But you are here, friend," Einhorn pointed out. "Does that not prove that greater contact might prove beneficial?"

"I am here as a duty. I don't visit here out of preference." 

He looked around the room before addressing Alger directly.

"Are these then all of your people?" he asked Alger.

"Every soul." replied Alger.

"Hmmm. I was led to believe there was an old man here--with white hair and beard."

"Not here, friend," Alger said. 

If he recognised the danger behind the question, his eyes did not show it. 

"I myself am the oldest here, and as you can see, my hair is far from white." Alger continued.

"One of my countrymen met with such a one some years ago," the Isyaki pressed. "He was accompanied by a boy--"

Aunt Pearl, who stood as always at the back of the hall to oversee the passage of food from the kitchen, turned suddenly to regard the conversation. Steven, still eating, knew this from the electricity he felt wash over him. It settled squarely on the Isyaki.

"--A Flaxen child, by the name.. Pinto, I believe."

Steven bent forward into his plate, pretending to make a show of eating without seeming too odd. He knew that Alger's next words were pivotal in what this strange man would do next.

"We do have a boy named Pinto here," Alger said. "That tall lad over by the end of the table there," he said, pointing to Pinto.

"No," said the Isyaki, looking hard at him. "That wasn't the boy that was described to me."

"It's not an uncommon name among the Flax you know," Alger said. "Quite probably your friend met a pair from another farm."

"That must be it," the Isyaki said, seeming to dismiss the affair.

Steven felt a huge weight lifted from atop his chest, but he still felt a slight crackling tension in the air.

"This ham," the Isyaki continued, "Is absolutely divine."

"Oh no, don't you be saying that in vain in this house." Alger joked.

"Oh, but it is! Are the ones in your smokehouse of similar quality?"

"Nice try, but you cannot so easily trick  _me_  into talking business on this day." Alger laughed.

The Isyaki smiled briefly. A peculiar expression for such a scarred face.

"One can always try," he said. "I would however, like to compliment your cook."

"Ah," Alger said. "Mistress Pearl! A compliment for you! Our friend from Sivu-Isyak finds your cooking much to his liking!"

"I thank him for his compliment," Aunt Pearl replied, somewhat coldly.

The Isyaki then turned to regard the voice. He looked at her for but a moment, then his eyes widened slightly, as if in recognition.

"A noble meal, great lady," he said, even bowing slightly in her direction. "Your kitchen is a place of magic."

"No," she replied, drawing herself up tall and lofty. "Cooking is an  _art_ that many with the patience and time to do so may learn.  _Magic_ is quite something else."

"But magic is also an art, great lady," the Isyaki said.

Steven felt the crackling tension intensify and knew instinctively that this exchange was not at all what it seemed. It was less a conversation than it was a skirmish, and Aunt Pearl was fiercely pressing the attack.

"There are many who would  **think**  so," said Aunt Pearl, "but true magic comes from within, and is not the result of  _cheap sleights_  which trick the eye."

The Isyaki stared at her, his face hardening, as she evenly returned his gaze, her steely eyes glittering icy blue. To Steven, it seemed as though something was passing invisibly through the air, a kind of wordless challenge that was left hanging in open defiance of the man's presence here.

And then, the Isyaki turned away, almost as if fearing to take it up.

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When the meal was over, it came time for the observance of the simple pageant that marked the New Year's Festival.

Seven of the older farmhands who slipped away earlier appeared in the doorway wearing the long, hooded robes and carefully carved and painted masks which represented the faces of the Diamonds. With a slow step, the robed and masked figures paced into the hall and lined up at the foot of the table where Alger sat. Then each, in turn, spoke a piece which identified the Diamond he represented.

"I am Grey Diamond," said the old farmer's voice from behind the first mask. "The God who dwells alone, and I command this world to be."

"I am Pink Diamond," came another familiar voice, "The Lion God of the Sangrians, and I command this world to be."

And so it went down the line, Orange, Green, Blue, Yellow and finally the last figure, which, unlike the others, was robed in black and her mask made of steel instead of wood.

"I am White Diamond," Bismuth's voice came hollowly from behind the mask, "Overlord of the Alabastians, and I command this world to be."

A movement caught Steven's eye, and he gave it a cursory glance. The Isyaki had covered his face with his hands in a strange, almost ceremonial gesture. Beyond him, at the far table, the five Drakans were ashen-faced and trembling.

The seven figures at the foot of Alger's table joined their hands.

"We are the Diamonds, and we command this world to be."

"Hearken unto the words of the Gods," Alger exclaimed. "Welcome are the Gods in the house of Alger."

"The blessing of the Gods be upon the house of Alger," intoned the seven, "and upon all his company."

And then, slowly as they had come, they paced from the hall.

And finally came the gifts. There was much excitement all around for this part of the celebration, for all the gifts were  _all_ from Alger, and the good farmer struggled long each year to provide the most suitable gift for each of his people. New tunic and gowns and shoes abounded, but Steven this year was nearly overwhelmed when he opened a smallish, cloth-wrapped bundle and found a simple, neat, well-sheathed dagger.

  "You'll find it to be perfectly balanced, Steven." Bismuth beamed. "As all things should be."  

Starry-eyed, he unsheathed it and tested the weight. It was light yet firm, the blade was so well-polished it glinted in the firelight, and when Steven stabbed it with a leaf, it was as if he was slicing into the fabric of the air itself. He crowed in delight.

Other parties privy to the boy's little celebration, however, were not so keen.

"He's nearly a man," Alger calmly explained in response to Aunt Pearl's rising ire. "And a man always has need of a good knife!"

As if to illustrate the point, Steven immediately tested the edge of his gift and managed to promptly cut his finger.

"It was inevitable, I suppose." said Aunt Pearl in concession. Though whether she was speaking about the cut or the gift itself was not entirely clear.

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The Isyaki bought his hams the next morning, and he departed with the five Drakans in tow. A few days later, to Alger's relief, his daughter Helena and the haughty Einhorn left on their return journey to Delmar, and Alger's Farm returned to normal.

The winter plodded on. The snows came and went, and spring returned, as it always does. The only thing which made that spring any different was the arrival of Myr, the new hand. One of the younger farmers had married and rented a small nearby croft and left, laden down with practical gifts and good advice from Alger to begin life as a married man. Myr was hired to replace him.

Steven found Myr to be a singularly unattractive addition to the farm. The man's tunic and hose were patched and stained, and his black hair and scraggly beard were unkempt, and not in a charming way as Mister Wolf's had been. He was a sour, solitary man, and he wasn't too clean either. His eyes were strange in that while one stared in the direction he was looking, the other seemed to have a mind of its own as to where it wanted to look. It made Steven's skin crawl. Above all, he seemed to carry with him a sort of reek, acrid like that of stale sweat which wafted from his vicinity like a miasma. After a few, honest-to-goodness attempts at trying to befriend him, Steven gave up altogether and avoided him.

Steven had other things to occupy his time during that spring and the summer after.

Though he had considered her to be more an inconvenience than a genuine playmate, quite suddenly he began to notice Elyne. He had always known that she was pretty, but until that particular season that fact had been unimportant, and he had much preferred the company of Pinto and Onion. Now matters had changed. He noticed that the other two boys had begun to pay attention to her as well, and for the first time, he began to feel the stirrings of jealousy.

Elyne of course, flirted outrageously with all three of them, and positively glowed when they glared at each other in her presence. Pinto's duties kept him in the field most of the time, but Onion was a serious worry to Steven. He became quite nervous and frequently found excuses to go about the compound to ascertain that Onion and Elyne were not in fact, spending time together.

His own campaign was charmingly simple-- he resorted to bribery. Elyne, like all the other girls, was fond of sweets, and having access to the entire kitchen meant Steven had the high ground. In time, they had worked out an arrangement, one that naturally, benefited Elyne disproportionately.

Steven would steal sweets from the kitchen for his sunny-haired playmate, and in return, she would let him kiss her.

It all went swimmingly, with Steven beginning to tease her for more in return for the sweets she so craved. Perhaps it might have gone further had Aunt Pearl not caught them in the midst of one such exchange one bright summer afternoon in the seclusion of a nondescript hay barn.

"That's quite enough of that, young man," she announced firmly from the doorway.

Steven jumped guiltily away from Elyne.

"I've got something in my eye, ma'am," lied Elyne shyly. "Steven was trying to get it out for me."

Steven, standing adjacent to her, stood blushing furiously.

"Really?" Aunt Pearl remarked. "How interesting. Come with me, Steven."

"I--" he started.

" _Now_ , Steven."

And that was the end of that. Steven's time thereafter was totally occupied in the kitchen, and Aunt Pearl's eyes seemed to be on him at every waking moment. He mooned about a great deal and worried desperately about Onion, who now seemed hatefully smug. But Aunt Pearl remained watchful, and so Steven remained in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone will make a reappearance next chapter ;)


	11. Intermission I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pausing for a couple days

**Heya guys. If you've been following this fanfic this far, I'm glad I could keep your attention, but I'm fresh out of inspiration and I think it's time that I take a moment to find myself. Pun intended.**

**There's so much good Steven Universe related literature here, a repository of stories, thoughts, witticisms and quotes that I have yet to read and to experience and to incorporate into this developing world of mine. There are so many authors with a more gripping style of writing (at least to me) from whom I've got so much to learn from.**

**And I'm honestly so excited because I've been recommended a fuck ton of Steven AU stories which are so diverse and unique in their own little ways, and as an avid reader I can't wait to go and start reading it right now.**

**I'm aware that it's supposed to be a totally unique world that has nothing to do with the original SU plotline, but the original SU mechanics should still hold, such as gem biology, to name one example.**

**Anyway, the point is I need to take some time off. I've made about seven chapters, I hope that's enough to keep you satisfied for now as I go out there to find some new material. I'll be back in a few days.**

**See ya** for **now, folks!**


	12. Blue Gems, Red Fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for departure, and a campfire story to chill the bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally gotten around to shaking things up a bit :)
> 
> Also, a teaser at our favourite ocean ma'am.

**IN MIDAUTUMN** that year, when the leaves had turned and the wind had showered them down from the trees like red and gold snow, when evenings were chill and the smoke from the chimneys at Alger's Farm rose straight and blue toward the first cold stars in a purpling sky, Wolf returned.

He came up the road on one gusty afternoon under a lowering red autumn sky with the new-fallen leaves tumbling about him and his great, dark cloak whipping in the wind.

Steven, who had been dumping kitchen slops to the pigs, saw his approach and practically bolted out the gate, rushing to meet him. The old man seemed travel-worn and tired, and his face under his graying hood was grim. His usual demeanour of happy-go-lucky cheerfulness had been replaced by a sombre mood that Steven had never seen before.

"Shtu-roll," Wolf said wearily by way of greeting. "You've grown, I see."

"It's been  _five_ years," Steven said

"Has it been so long?"

Steven nodded, an exaggerated frown upon his features. Wolf chuckled quietly as Steven fell into step beside him.

"Is everyone well?" Wolf asked.

"Oh yes," Steven replied. "Everything here's been the same except for... OH! Glenn got married and moved away, and the old brown cow died last summer."

"I remember the cow," Wolf said offhandedly. Then he said,

"I must speak with Aunt Pearl, boy. With all haste."

"She's not in a very good mood today," Steven warned. "it might be better if you rested in one of the barns. I can sneak some food and drink to you in a bit."

"We'll have to chance her mood, Steven." Wolf said, uncharacteristically daring.

Steven gulped. While Wolf never backed away from a good game of chance, he was, like all men with half a brain stem, careful to  _never_  anger Aunt Pearl.

This was serious.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They entered the gate and crossed the courtyard to the kitchen door.

Aunt Pearl was waiting.

"You again?" said she tartly, her hands on her hips and a signature wry smile plastered across her face. "My kitchen still hasn't recovered from your last visit."

"Nonsense, Pearl, it's been five years," Wolf replied, returning the smile.

Then he did something very strange.

Steven saw his arms fold inward in a cross-formation, like an X, with his hands bent inwards toward each other. He held the position for only the briefest of moments, but in that moment, he felt the weight of five years of knowledge rush upon an ethereal bridge between minds.

Aunt Pearl's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, and her face became grim.

"How do you--" she started, then caught herself.

"Steven," she said sharply, "I need some carrots. There are still some in the ground at the far end of the kitchen garden. Take a spade and fetch me some."

"But--" Steven protested, but then, warned by the expression forming on her face, left quickly. He got a spade and pail from a nearby shed, and then loitered, out of sight, near the kitchen door.  

Eavesdropping, of course, was not a nice habit and was considered one of the worst forms of bad manners in Delmarvia, but Steven had long since concluded that whenever  _he_ had to be sent away, the conversation was  **bound** to be  _very interesting_ , and would probably rather  **intimately** concern him. He had wrestled briefly with his conscience about it before; but, since he really saw no harm in the practice-- as long as he didn't regret anything he heard --conscience had been overruled by curiosity.

Steven's ears were very sharp, but it took him a moment or two to separate the two familiar voices from the ambient noises of the kitchen.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

"He will not leave you a trail," Aunt Pearl was saying.

"He doesn't have to," Wolf replied. "The thing itself will make its trail known to me. I can follow it as easily as a fox sniffs out a rabbit."

"Where will he take it?" she asked.

"Who can say? His mind is closed to me. My guess is he'll go north to Wal'kofte. That's the shortest route to Vaas-Indrak. He'll know I'll be after him, and he'll want to cross into Alabastian land as soon as possible. His theft will not be complete so long as he stays in the West."

"When did it happen?"

"Four weeks ago."

"He could  _already be_ in Alabastia!"

"That's not as likely as you think, Pearl. The distances are long. But I still need to find him, and for that, I need your help."

"But how can I leave?" Aunt Pearl said, a hint of incredulity creeping into her voice. "He's still just a baby! I have to watch over him!"

Steven crept closer to the door. His curiosity unbearably intense now.

"The boy will be safe enough here!" Wolf asserted. "This is an urgent matter."

"No." Aunt Pearl contradicted. "Even this place isn't safe. Last Festival, five Drakans and an Isyaki came here. He  _posed_ as a merchant, but he asked a few too many questions-- about an old man and a boy named Pinto who had been seen in Upper Geralt some years ago. He also may have recognised me."

"It's more serious than we thought then." Wolf now pondered thoughtfully. "We have to move the boy then. We'll leave him with friends elsewhere."

"No," Aunt Pearl began again.

"Oh Diamonds, Pearl..."

"If I go with you, he'll have to come with. He's reaching an age where he must be under constant scrutiny."

"Don't be absurd."

Steven was stunned. Nobody said that to Aunt Pearl.

"It's my decision to make." said Aunt Pearl crisply. "We all agreed he was to be in my care until he was grown. I won't go unless he goes  _with me_."

Steven's heart leaped.

"Pearl," Wolf said sharply. "think about where we have to go. You  _cannot_ deliver the boy into their hands."

"He'd  _be_ safer in Sivu-Isyak or even in, Diamonds forgive me,  _Noxus_ _itself_ than he would be here without my eyes on him." Aunt Pearl said. "Last spring I caught him in the barn with a girl about his own age! As I said, he needs watching."

Wolf laughed. "Is that all? You worry too much about such things, Pearl."

"How would you like it if we came back and we found him married and soon to become a father?" Aunt Pearl demanded, her tone positively acidic. 

"He'd make an excellent farmer, and what would it matter if we had to wait  _a hundred more years_  for the circumstances to be right again?" she spat.

"Surely it hasn't gone that far. They're only children."

"You're blind, Old Wolf." Aunt Pearl remarked. "This is back-country Delmarvia, and the boy has been raised to do the honourable thing. The girl is a bright-eyed  _minx_ who's maturing far too rapidly for my comfort. Right now, charming little Elyne is a far greater danger than any Isyaki could ever be. Either the boy comes, or I don't. You have your responsibilities, I have mine."

"There's no point arguing about it," Wolf said in exasperation. "If it has to be this way, so be it."

Steven was choked to the brim with excitement.

**_He was going on a mission! With Aunt Pearl and Wolf!_ **

He felt a momentary pang of regret leaving Elyne behind. He turned to look up exultantly at the clouds scuttling across the evening sky. He screamed a silent thanks to any and all the Diamonds who were watching this. Because of that, he failed to notice Aunt Pearl approach from right in front of him.

"As I recall, Steven," Aunt Pearl said, making him jump. "The garden lies beyond the far wall over there." She pointed.

Steven started guiltily.

"How is it that the carrots remain  _undug_?" she demanded.

"I had to look for the spade..." Steven said unconvincingly.

"Really? I see that you found it, however." Her eyebrows arched dangerously.

"Only just now." said he, sheepishly.

"Splendid. Carrots, Steven--  _now!_ "

Steven grabbed his pail and ran.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

It was just turning to dusk when Steven returned, and he saw Aunt Pearl mounting the steps that led to Alger's quarters. He might have followed her to listen, but a faint movement in the dark doorway of one of the sheds made him step instead into the shadow of the gate. A furtive figure moved from the shed to the foot of the stairs Aunt Pearl had just climbed and silently crept up the stairs as soon as she went in Alger's door.

The light was fading, and Steven could not see who exactly followed his Aunt. He set down his pail and, grasping the spade like a weapon, hurried quickly around the inner court, keeping to the shadows.

There came a sound of a movement inside the chambers upstairs, and the figure at the door scampered down the steps quickly and out of sight. As the figure passed him, Steven caught the distinct stench of stale, musty clothing and rank sweat.

_What business would Myr have with Aunt Pearl?_

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Steven heard his Aunt's voice.

"I'm sorry Alger, but it's a family matter, and I must leave immediately."

"I would pay you more, Pearl." Alger's voice was almost breaking.

"Money has nothing to do with it," Aunt Pearl replied. "Oh, Alger, dear. You're such a good man. You and your farm has been a haven to me when I needed one. And I am grateful to you-- more than you can know --but I must leave."

"Perhaps when this family business is over, you can come back?" Alger almost pleaded.

"No Alger," she said. "I'm afraid not."

"We'll miss you Pearl," Alger said, tears pooling.

"And I will miss you, dear Alger. I've never met a better-hearted man. I'd take it kindly if you wouldn't mention my leaving until I was gone. I'm not fond of explanations," Aunt Pearl explained.

"Or sentimental goodbyes..." she said softly.

"Whatever you wish, Pearl," Alger replied, trying to stifle what was clearly meant to be a sob.

"Don't be so mournful, old friend," Aunt Pearl said, trying to be light-hearted about it. "My helpers are just as well-trained as I am! Their cooking will be the same as mine! Your stomach will never notice the difference."

"But my heart will," Alger tearfully sobbed, dropping to his knees at the doorway.

"Oh, Alger..." she knelt beside him, a soft hand on his shoulder. "Don't be like that," she sighed.

"I still have supper to see to," she finished.

Steven moved quickly away from the shadows he hid in. Troubled, he put his spade back in the shed and fetched the pail of carrots he had left sitting by the gate.

To reveal to his Aunt that he had seen Myr by the door would raise questions about his own activities that he would prefer not to answer. In all probability, Myr was just curious like he was, and there was nothing menacing or ominous about that. To observe the unsavoury Myr duplicating his own seemingly harmless pastime, however, made Steven feel quite uncomfortable, even ashamed of himself.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Although Steven was much too excited to eat, supper that evening was by far the best he had ever tasted. Steven covertly watched the sour-faced Myr, but the man showed no outward sign of having in any way been changed by the conversation he had gone through so much trouble to overhear.

When supper was over, as was always the case when he was on the farm, Mister Wolf was prevailed upon to tell a story.

Wolf rose and stood for a moment deep in thought as the wind moaned in the chimney and the torches flickered in their rings on the pillars in the hall.

"As all men know," he began, "the Lazulites are no more, and the spirit of Blue Diamond weeps alone in the wilderness and wails among the now moss-grown ruins of Lanzalore. But also, as all men know, the hills and streams of Lanzalore were heavy with fine, yellow gold. That gold, of course, was the destruction of the Lazuli. When a certain neighbouring empire became aware of that gold, the temptation became too great, and the result-- as it almost always is when gold is at issue between kingdoms-- was war. The pretext for the war was the lamentable fact that the Lazulites were witches. While this habit is distasteful amongst civilised men, had there not been gold in Lanzalore, it would have been overlooked."

"The war, however, was inevitable, and all the Lazulites were slain. But the spirit of Blue Diamond and the ghosts of all the slaughtered Lazuli remained in Lanzalore, as those who went into that haunted kingdom soon discovered."

"Now it chanced to happen that about that time there lived in the hamlet of Auckney in southern Delmarvia three adventuresome men and, hearing of all that gold, resolved to journey down to Lanzalore to claim their share of it. The men, as I said, were adventurous and bold, and they scoffed at the tales of ghosts."

"Their journey was long, for it is many hundreds of leagues from Auckney to the upper reaches of Lanzalore, but the smell of gold drew them on. And so it happened, one dark and stormy night, that they crept into Lanzalore past the patrols which had been set to turn back those such as they. That nearby empire, having gone through such lengths and expense and inconvenience of war, was naturally quite reluctant to share the gold with anyone who passed by."

"Through the night they crept, burning with lust for gold. The Spirit of Blue wailed about them, but they were brave men and not afraid of spirits-- and besides, they told each other, the sound was not truly from a spirit, but from the moaning of wind in the trees."

"As dim and misty morning seeped amongst the hills, they could hear, not far away, the sound of rushing river. As all men know, gold is most easily found deposited along the banks of rivers, and so they made quickly toward that sound."

"Then one of them chanced to look down in the dim light, and behold, the ground at his feet was strewn with gold, lumps and chunks galore. Overcome with greed, he remained silent and loitered until his brothers went out of sight, then fell to his knees and started gathering gold as a child might pick up flowers. Then, he heard a sound behind him, and he turned."

"What he saw then is best not to say. Dropping all his gold, he bolted."

"Now river had cut through a ravine just about there, and his two companions were amazed to see him run off the edge of that ravine and even continue to run as he fell, his legs churning insubstantial air. Then they turned, and they saw what had been pursuing him."

"One went quite mad and leapt with a despairing cry into the same ravine which had just claimed his brother, but the third adventurer, the bravest and most courageous of all, told himself that no ghost could possibly harm a living man and stood his ground. That of course, was the worst mistake of all. The ghosts encircled him as he stood bravely, certain that they could not harm him."

Mister Wolf paused briefly and took a swig of his tankard.

"And then," the old storyteller continued, "because even ghosts can become hungry, they divided him up and consumed him."

Steven's hair stood on end at the shocking conclusion to the gory tale, and he could sense others at the table shuddering. It was not at all what anyone had expected to hear that night.

Myr, seated near the fire, suddenly stood up.

"I've never seen a ghost," he drawled sourly, "nor ever met anyone who had, and I for one do not believe in any kind of magic or sorcery or such childishness."

And he stood up and stamped out of the hall as though the story had been some kind of personal insult. Steven found it most odd, indeed.


	13. Into the Cold Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven realises there is more to his life than meets the eye, and is whisked upon a journey the likes of which he had never seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is friends. The show is finally on the road.
> 
> This is the chapter you've been waiting for.

**LATER IN THE KITCHEN** , while Aunt Pearl was cleaning up and Wolf lounged against one of the workbenches with a tankard of beer in hand, Steven's struggle with his conscience finally came into the open. That dry, interior voice of his had finally succeeded in convincing him, most pointedly, that concealing what he knew about Myr was not only just foolish, but possibly dangerous as well.

Steven set down the pot he was scrubbing and crossed over to where they were.

"It might not be... important," he began carefully, "but this afternoon, when I was coming back from the garden, I saw Myr following you, Aunt Pearl."

Aunt Pearl, who had been calmly dusting off the top shelves until that point, turned so sharply that the frills of her dress kicked up the rest of the dust into a small cloud behind her. Wolf set down his tankard.

"Go on, Steven," said Wolf.

"It was when you went up to talk with Farmer Alger," Steven explained. "He'd waited until you'd gone up on the stairs and Farmer Alger had let you in. Then he sneaked up and listened at the door. I saw him up there when I went to put the spade away."

As his recount ended, an uneasy silence settled between the three of them.

Finally, Wolf spoke. "How long has this man Myr been at the farm?" he asked, frowning.

"He came just last spring," Steven said. "After Glenn got married and moved away."

"And the Isyaki merchant was here last Festivale some months before?"

Aunt Pearl turned sharply. "You don't think--" She did not finish.

"I think it wouldn't be a bad idea if I were to step around and have a few words with our friend Myr," Wolf said menacingly. "Do you know where his room is, Steven?"

Steven nodded, his heart suddenly racing.

"Show me." Wolf moved away from the table where he was lounging, and his step was no longer that of an old man.

It was as if the years fell suddenly away from him, as though time itself feared to hinder him.

"Be careful," warned Aunt Pearl.

Wolf chuckled, a chilling, frosty sound, charged with intent.

"I'm always careful. You should know that by now."

Steven quickly led Wolf out into the yard and around the far end where the steps mounted to the gallery that led to the rooms of the farmhands. They went up, their soft leather boots making no sound upon the stone.

"Down here," Steven whispered, without knowing exactly why he was whispering.

Wolf nodded, and they went quietly down the dark gallery.

"Here," Steven whispered, stopping.

"Step back," Wolf breathed. He touched the door with his fingertips.

"Is it locked?" Steven asked.

"Not anymore," Wolf said softly. He put his hand to the latch, there was a click, and the door swung open. Wolf stepped inside with Steven close behind.

It was totally dark in the room, and the sour stink of Myr's unwashed clothes hung in the air.

"He's not here," Wolf said in a normal tone. He fumbled with something at his belt and there was the scrape of flint against steel and a flare of sparks. A wisp of frayed rope caught the sparks and began to glow. Wolf blew on the spark for a second, and it flared to life. He raised the burning wisp over his head and looked around the empty room.

The floor and bed were littered with rumpled clothes and personal belongings. Steven knew instantly that this was not simple untidiness, but rather the telltale signs of a hasty departure, and again, he did not know exactly how he knew.

Wolf stood for a moment, holding his little torch. His face seemed somehow empty, as though his mind was absent his body, searching for something.

"The stables," he said sharply. "Quickly, boy!"

Steven turned and dashed from the room with Wolf close behind. The burning wisp of rope drifted down into the yard, illuminating it briefly before Wolf discarded it over the railing as he ran.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a light in the stable. It was dim, partially covered, but the faint beams shone through the weathered cracks in the door. The horses were stirring uneasily.

"Stay clear, boy," Wolf said as he jerked the stable door open.

Myr was inside, struggling to saddle a horse that was shying away from his rank stench.

"Leaving so soon, Myr?" Wolf asked, stepping into the doorway with his arms crossed.

Myr turned quickly, crouched and with a snarl on his unshaven face. His off-centre eye gleamed whitely in the half-muffled light of the lantern hanging from a peg on one of the stalls, and his broken teeth shone behind his pulled-back lips.

"A strange hour for a journey," Wolf dryly remarked.

"Don't interfere with me, old man," Myr said, his tone menacing. "You'll regret it."

"I've regretted many things in my life," Wolf said. "I doubt one more will make all that much difference."

"I warned you," Myr snarled, and his hand dove beneath his cloak and emerged with a dirty, rust-covered sword.

"Go ahead.  ** _Make my day_**." Wolf said in a tone of overwhelming contempt.

Steven, however, at the first flash of the sword, whipped his hand to his belt and withdrew his dagger, stepping out in front of the old man.

"Get back boy!" Wolf barked.

But Steven had already lunged forward, his bright dagger thrust in front of him. Later, when he had time to consider, he could not have explained the sudden flash of bravery... or stupidity. Some deep instinct seemed to take over.

"Steven!" Wolf said, "Get out of the way!"

"All the better," Myr said, raising his sword.

And then, Bismuth was there. He appeared from nowhere out of the shadows, snatched up an ox yoke and smacked the sword from Myr's hand. Myr turned on him, enraged, and Bismuth's second blow took the cast-eyed man in the ribs. The blow knocked the breath out of Myr's lungs in an audible whoosh, and he collapsed, writhing and gasping onto the straw-littered floor.

"Shame on you, Steven," Bismuth said reproachfully. "I didn't make that knife of yours for this kind of thing."

"He was going to kill Mister Wolf!" Steven protested.

"Never mind that," Wolf said, bending over the gasping man. He searched Myr roughly and pulled a jingling purse from under the stained tunic. He carried the purse to where the lantern was near the wall and opened it.

"That's mine," Myr gasped, trying to rise. Bismuth raised the ox yoke threateningly, and Myr sank back down again.

"That's a sizeable sum for any ordinary farmhand to have, friend Myr," Wolf said, pouring the jingling coins from the purse into his hand. "How came you by it?"

Myr glared at him.

Steven's eyes grew wide at the sight of the coins. He had never seen gold before.

"You don't really have to answer, friend Myr," Wolf continued, examining one of the coins. "Your gold speaks for itself."

He dumped the coins back into the purse and tossed the small leather pouch back onto the floor beside the man. Myr quickly grabbed it and stowed it back inside his tunic.

"I'll have to tell Alger of this," Bismuth began.

"No," Wolf said.

"It's a serious matter. A bit of wrestling or a few blows exchanged is one thing, but the drawing of weapons is quite another."

"There's no time for all of that," Wolf said, taking a harness strap from a peg on the wall. "Bind his hands behind him, and we'll put him in one of the grain bins. Someone will find him in the morning."

Bismuth stared at him.

"Trust me, o good Bismuth," Wolf said. "The matter is urgent. Tie him and hide him someplace; then come to the kitchen. Come with me, Steven."

And with that, they turned and left the stable.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Aunt Pearl was nervously pacing in the kitchen by the time they returned.

"Well?" she demanded.

"He was attempting to leave," Wolf said. "We stopped him."

"Did you--?" she left it hanging.

"No. He drew a sword, but Bismuth chanced to be nearby and knocked the truculence out of him. The intervention was timely. Your cub here was about to be a hero. That little dagger of his is a pretty thing, but really not much use against a sword."

Steven's head turned to his Aunt immediately to at least try and explain himself, only to be instantly silenced into submission by the most frightfully intense, blazing pair of eyes he had ever seen.

"There's no time for that," Wolf hissed, retrieving the tankard he had set down before leaving the kitchen.

"Myr had a pouchful of good red Alabastian gold. The Isyaki have set eyes to watching this place. I'd wanted to make our journey secret, but since we're already being watched, there's no point in that now. Gather what you and the boy will need. I want a few leagues between us and Myr before he manages to free himself. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for Isyaki every place I go."

Bismuth, who had come into the kitchen sometime earlier but had stood motionless at the doorway, suddenly spoke:

"Things aren't what they seem here," he started slowly. "What manner of folk are you really, and how is it that you have such dangerous enemies?"

"That is a long story, good Bismuth," Wolf said, "but I'm afraid there's no time to tell it now. Make our apologies to Alger, and see if you can't detain Myr for a good day or so. I'd like our trail to be quite cold before he or his friends try to find it."

"I'm afraid someone else is going to have to do that, friend Wolf," Bismuth said slowly. "Now I'm not certain what all this is about, but I know for a fact that there's danger involved in it. It appears that I will have to go with you-- at least until I've gotten you safely away from here."

Aunt Pearl suddenly burst into laughter. "You, Bismuth? You mean to protect  **us**?"

He drew himself up. "I'm sorry, Mistress Pearl," he said. "I will not permit you to go unescorted."

" _Will not permit?_ " she said incredulously.

"Very well," Wolf said, a sly look on his face now.

"Have you finally taken leave of your senses?" Aunt Pearl demanded, turning now on Wolf.

"Bismuth has shown himself to be a useful friend," Wolf said. "If nothing else, he'll give me someone to talk with along the way. Your tongue has only grown sharper with the years, Pearl, and I don't relish the idea of a hundred leagues or more with nothing but  _abuse_ for companionship."

"I see that you've finally slipped into your dotage, Old Wolf." she spat, acid dripping from every syllable.

"This is exactly what I mean," Wolf replied dryly. "Now gather a few things and let us be off from here. The night is passing rapidly."

Aunt Pearl, her glare deathly cold, turned upon her heel then stormed out of the kitchen.

"I'll have to fetch some things too," Bismuth said. He turned and went out into the gusty night.

Steven's mind whirled. Everything was happening way too fast.

"Afraid, boy?" Wolf asked.

"Well--" Steven said. "It's just that I don't understand. I don't understand anything of what's happening at all. First we went after Myr, then we cornered him in the stables, and then he pulled a sword and then now maybe he's an Isyaki  _and now Bismuth's coming too and_ _\--_ "

Wolf placed a finger upon his flapping lips, silencing Steven. Steven's eyes met his.

"You will in time, Steven," Wolf murmured softly. "For now, it's better that you don't. There's a danger in what we're doing, but not all that great a danger. Your Aunt and I-- and now, good Bismuth, of course-- will see that no harm comes to you. Now help me in the pantry."

And with that, Wolf took a lantern and went to the back of the kitchen, where he proceeded to raid the cabinets for a wide variety of food, taking a good amount, but not too much for it to look suspicious the following morning. Steven helped him in doing so, and he felt a strange, familiar ease in performing this activity with Wolf, as he had so many times before.

Trapped in a moment of familiarity, Steven laughed away the absurdity of it all, and the impending feeling that life as he knew it was about to be torn right out of the ground with him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

It was nearly midnight, as closely as Steven could tell, when they quietly left the kitchen and crossed the dark courtyard. The faint creak of the gate as Bismuth swung it open seemed enormously loud.

As they passed through the gate, Steven felt a momentary pang. Alger's farm had been the only home he had ever known. He was leaving now, perhaps forever, and such things carried great weight.

A Boy with No Home, a boy On the Run.

He felt an even sharper pang at the memory of Elyne. The thought of Onion and Elyne together in the barn almost made him want to give the whole thing up altogether, but it was far too late now.

Beyond the protection of the buildings, Steven realised how chill the midnight air was, and how the gusty wind nipped and licked at his sides. He drew his cloak close about him. Heavy clouds covered the moon, making the road seem only slightly less dark than the surrounding fields.

It was cold and lonely and more than a little frightening. He huddled close to Aunt Pearl.

At the top of their first hill, he stopped and glanced back. Alger's Farm was only a pale, dim blur in the valley beneath them. Regretfully, he turned his back upon it for the last time. He trudged forward into the cold dark, into a future of unknown gloom.

 


	14. Friends In Low Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow our favourite No Home Boy on his journey while on the run. Along the way, they meet up with some unexpected company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I saw an opening to include our trouble-making duo. Enjoy!

**THEY HAD WALKED** for miles and miles, how many, Steven could not say. He nodded groggily as he walked, his consciousness shifting in and out of reality. He stumbled over unseen stones and holes in the road. More than anything now, he wanted to sleep. His eyes burned, his legs trembled on the edge of exhaustion.

At the top of another hill-- for there was no shortage of notoriously steep hills in back country Delmarvia -- Mister Wolf stopped and looked about, his eyes searching the oppressive gloom.

"We take a detour from the road here," Wolf announced. 

"Is that wise?" Bismuth asked. "The forest hereabouts are reputed to be thick and heavy, with unsavoury types lurking about, waiting to pounce on travellers such as ourselves. Even if there weren't, will we not be likely to lose our way in the dark?"

With that, Bismuth looked up at the murky night sky. "There isn't even a moon to light our path this night." He finished.

"I don't think we need to be afraid of robbers," Wolf said confidently as he went, "And I'm just as glad that there isn't a moon. We're not being followed yet, but it's just as well that no one be able to see our passage. Isyaki gold can buy many secrets."

And with that, he led them into the fields that lay beside the road.

For Steven, the fields were impossible. If he had stumbled back then on the road, the unseen furrow, clumps and holes in the rough ground now seemed to catch his feet with every step. At the end of the mile, when they had reached the black edge of the forest, Steven was about ready to weep with exhaustion.

"How... Are we possibly... going to find our way in  _there_?" he demanded, peering into the utter gloom of the woods.

"There's a woodcutter's track no far from this side," Wolf said, pointing, "We only have a little ways to go."

And he set off again, treading along the edge of the dark woods, with Steven and the others stumbling along behind him. 

"Here we are," he said finally, resting up against a tree to allow them to catch up.

"It's going to be very dark in there, and the track isn't particularly wide. I'll go first, the rest of you follow my lead."

"I'll be right behind you, Steven." Bismuth assured him. "Don't worry, everything will be alright."

There was a note in the smith's words, however, that hinted that the words were more to assure  _himself_  rather than the boy.

It seemed warmer in the woods. The tall trees sheltered them somewhat from the gusty chill of the midnight wind. Yet, it was so dark that Steven truly did not know how Wolf could find his way. A dreadful suspicion grew in his mind that Wolf did not actually know where he was going and was merely floundering about blindly, trusting in blind luck to get them through.

" _Stop._ " a rumbling, gravelly voice said suddenly, shockingly, directly ahead of them. Steven's eyes, accustomed slightly now to the gloom of the woods, saw a vague outline of something so huge it could not have possibly been human.

" _A **giant! "**   _His mind screamed in alarm. Then, because he was exhausted and because everything that had transpired that evening had simply piled too much upon his worn out psyche, his nerve broke and he bolted into the trees.

"Steven!" he heard Aunt Pearl's panicked voice cry out from somewhere behind him. " _Come back!_ "

But panic had seized him. He ran on, falling over roots and branches, crashing into trees and getting his legs all tangled up in brambles on the forest floor. It seemed like some endless wooded nightmare. He ran full tilt into a low-hanging branch, and suddenly sparks filled his vision from the sudden blow to his forehead. He lay there for a moment in the cold and damp, gasping and sobbing, trying to clear his head.

Then he felt hands upon him, horrid, unseen grabby hands. A thousand terrors flashed through his mind at once, and he struggled desperately, trying to draw his dagger.

"Oh, no," said a sultry, husky voice. "That's quite enough from you, my little rabbit."

His dagger was taken from him.

"Are you going to eat me?" Steven blubbered.

Somewhere above him, there was a short pause, then his captor laughed. A low, hearty sound.

"On your feet now, rabbit." he said, and Steven felt himself being hauled upwards by a firm, strong hand. His arm was taken in an iron grip, and he was half-dragged through the woods.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere ahead there was a light, a winking campfire in the distance, and it seemed that he was being taken there. He knew that he had to think, had to devise some means of escape, but his mind, stunned by fright and paralysed by exhaustion, refused to think. He cursed the dry voice in his head for leaving him at this time.

There were three wagons sitting in a rough half-circle around the fire. Bismuth was there, and Wolf, and Aunt Pearl, and a man so large that Steven's mind refused to accept the possibility that he was real. His tree-trunk legs were wrapped in furs cross-tied with leather straps, and he wore a chain-mail shirt that seemed way too tight for him, accentuating his chiselled chest. From his either side of his belt hung two bull-whips that were curled and tightly bound at the waist. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, and seemed to go on forever.

As they came into the light, Steven was able to see the man who had captured him, and was surprised to find that he was no man at all.

**_He was a she!?_ **

Yes, indeed, she was a small individual, he found, not much taller than Steven himself, and her face was covered by a short hood that made her platinum blonde hair look like an onion bulb. Her eyes were round and her eyelashes long, but seemed small due to the half-lidded expression she wore. It made her look perpetually bored and unimpressed. Her stained and patched tunic was cut short at her waist, revealing a finely toned midriff, and there at the side of her waist was a short, wicked-looking sword.

"Here's our rabbit," the small, weasel-like lady announced as she pulled Steven into the centre of the circle. "And a merry chase he led me on, too."

Aunt Pearl was furious. "Don't you  _ever_  do that again," she said sternly, pulling him close.

"Don't encourage him not to run, Mistress Pearl," chided Wolf gently. "It's all the better for him that he runs rather than fights right now. Until he gets bigger, his feet are his best friends."

"Have we been captured by robbers?" Steven asked timidly.

Steven stared directly at the hulking giant as he said those words, his mind registering some anomalies with the man's form, such as the fact that his skin glowed..  _purple?_ In the firelight, but he was too scared to care. 

"Robbers?" Wolf laughed. "What a thing to say Steven. These here ladies are our friends."

"Friends?" Steven began doubtfully. "Wait,  _ladies??_ " Steven stared straight into the eyes of the huge man.

"Yeah. So I am one. You got something to say about that little man?" began the giant, threateningly.

Steven, put on the spot, was going to say something to try to defend himself, when Aunt Pearl spoke up.

"Amethyst, if you don't stop that right now, I'm going to be  **very** cross with you."

At those words, the huge man's shoulders drooped, and when next he spoke, the booming, gravelly quality of his voice all but left him. What came out next was far more fitting to that tonality of a woman.

"Awwww, you're no fun anymore, P." she said sourly.

Steven watched in awe as the giant began to glow, brighter and brighter until it seemed that the light he gave off could illuminate the entire forest around them. Shielding his eyes, he saw a distinct purple gem in the centre of her light-warped form, and as the light dimmed, what sat before him seemed a lot more believable to his beleaguered mind.

She was much shorter now, and her skin was  _definitely_ some distinct shade of purple. Her hair hadn't changed, it was still incredibly long, but seemed to flow and merge into the forest floor as she stood. She was a stocky, stout fellow, almost as tall as Onion Girl, and her chainmail shirt fit nicely around her now. The bullwhips were gone, however, replaced by several short throwing knives and a broadsword. 

She must have noticed Steven staring at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, because she guffawed loudly.

"Oh my stars, look at his  _face_. AHAHAHAH," she laughed, hardly containing herself as her voice echoed through the trees, "They always shit themselves when they see us, don't they V?" 

At the mention of her name, 'V' looked sourly at her boisterous companion.

"This is Steven," Wolf said, pointing at the boy. "You've already met Mistress Pearl, well, one of you anyway." His voice seemed to stress Aunt Pearl's name. "And this is Bismuth, a brave smith who has decided to accompany us."

"Mistress.... Pearl, you say?" asked V curiously, then for seemingly no reason at all, she began to laugh.

"I am known by that name, yes." Aunt Pearl replied pointedly.

"It shall be my pleasure to refer to you as such, my great lady," the small woman said with a mocking bow.

"This ball of mischief here is Amethyst," Wolf went on. "She's useful in a pinch, especially when there's trouble. As you can see, she's not from around here. She isn't Delmarvian, but a gem from Van Sangria."

Steven had never seen a gem before, let alone one from mainland Wy-Atia, but he had heard of the unmatched ferocity with which Quartz soldiers had fought and their fearsome prowess in battle, though Amethyst's short stature now did little to bolster Steven's faith in those stories.

"And I," the small lady said with one hand upon her chest, "am called V. Not much of a name, I'll admit, it's only a letter after all, but it's the one I prefer to be called by. I am a juggler and an acrobat by trade." she finished.

"Also master thief, and spy," Amethyst continued good-naturedly.

"We all have our failings, Amy." V admitted blandly, scratching at her bulbous hair under her hood.

"And I'm called Mister Wolf in this particular time and place," the old man said. "I'm rather fond of the name since Shtu-roll over there was the one that gave it to me. Hence you will all refer to me as such."

"Mister... Wolf?" V asked, and then she laughed again. "What a merry name for you, old friend."

"I'm delighted that you find it so, my friend." Wolf replied flatly.

"Mister Wolf it shall be, then," V said. "Come to the fire, friends. Warm yourselves. I'll see to some food for our bellies."

Steven was still uncertain about the inclusion of this odd duo into their little group. They  **obviously** knew Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf-- and just as obviously by different names. The fact that Aunt Pearl might not be whom he had always thought she was was profoundly disturbing to him. One of the cornerstones he had built his entire life around had virtually disappeared.

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The food with which V returned with was rough, a mushroom stew with onions and chunks of meat floating in it with crudely hacked off slices of bread on the side. Steven however, fell into it as if he had not eaten for days. He was surprised at the size of his appetite.

And then, his stomach full and his feet warmed by the crackling fire, he rested, leaning against the log in a half-doze.

"What now, Old Wolf?" he heard Aunt Pearl ask. "What's the grand idea behind these clumsy wagons?"

"It's a brilliant plan," Wolf said, "if I do say so myself. There are, as you know, wagons going every which way in Delmarvia at this time of year. Harvests are moving from field to farm, from farm to village and from village to town. Nothing is more unremarkable in Delmarvia than wagons. They're so common they're almost invisible. This is how we're going to travel. We're freight haulers now."

"We're  _what?"_ Aunt Pearl demanded.

"Wagoneers," Wolf said. "Hard-working transporters of the goods of Delmarvia. Out to make our fortunes and seek adventure, bitten by the desire to travel, infected by the wanderlust of the road."

"Have you any idea how  _long_ it takes to travel by wagon?" Aunt Pearl asked

"Six on a bad day, ten leagues on a good one," he replied. "It's a slow pace, I grant, but it's better to move slowly than to attract attention."

She shook her head in disgust.

"Where first, Mister Wolf?" asked V.

"To Wollock," Wolf announced. "If the one we're following went north, he'll have to have passed through Wollock on his way to Wal'kofte and beyond."

"And what exactly are we carrying to Wollock?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"Onions, great lady," replied V slyly. "Last morning, my trusty partner and I procured three wagonloads of them in the village of Winar."

"This is our plan?  _Onions?_ " she said in a tone that spoke volumes.

"Yes, great lady. Onions." V reasserted solemnly.

"Are we ready then?" Wolf asked.

"We are," said Amethyst, shapeshifting back into her giant, hulking form again, her mail shirt crying out in protest against the sudden musculature.

"We should look the part," Wolf said thoughtfully, eyeing Amethyst up and down. "Your armor, my friend, is not the sort of garb a wagoneer would wear. I think you should switch it up for wool."

Amy's face took on an injured expression. "I could wear a tunic over it," she tried to bargain.

"You rattle like a bell every time you move, Amy," V pointed out, "And your armor has a distinct fragrance to it. I didn't want to tell you this way but, you smell like rusty ironworks when I'm downwind of you, Aimes."

Amethyst turned to glare at her companion, obviously hurt at her betrayal. "I feel naked without this chainmail shirt," Amethyst complained.

"We all make sacrifices, Aimes." V shrugged.

Grumbling, Amethyst walked over to the clothing wagon and tossed her mail shirt aside.

"I'd change tunics as well!" she heard V call out. "Your shirt smells as bad as the armor!"

Amethyst glared daggers at her. "Anything else?" she demanded. "I hope you're not planning to have me strip entirely for you here."

V laughed merrily.

Amethyst shed her tunic as well. In her current form, her chest was lush with matted hair covering most of it, so much so it looked almost like fur.

"Maybe you should keep it that way, Amy," said V, strutting up to her. "You look like a rug." she commented, both staring at her in the mirror.

"Hey, that better be a compliment," Amethyst said, sounding injured.

"The winters in Q'zarnia are just as cold as they are here." V continued. "Are you sure your mother didn't dally with a bear or some mountain lion on one of those long winters?"

Amethyst stifled a laugh. "One of these days, that tongue of yours is going to get you in soooooo much trouble, V." she said ominously.

"Trouble and I are close bedfellows, Aimes," purred V as she admired Amethyst in the mirror. "Just like w--"

"I think that all of this can be best discussed later, don't you?" Wolf's voice rang out as he approached the wagon, cutting her off. "I'd much like to be well away from here before week's end."

"Of course, old friend," V said, walking slowly away. "Amy and I can amuse each other later."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here they are at last!
> 
> I'm keeping Amy as a gem in this AU, and if you're wondering why she's wearing clothes instead of shapeshifting them on, it's because shapeshifting clothes means they're still a part of her hard-light form, so tearing at the clothes would still hurt her, whereas stabbing into the chain mail that she wears will affect the integrity of the mail, but not her projected form.
> 
> See you next chapter where they'll be on the road out of Delmarvia once and for all :)


	15. The Journey North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The merry band heads off to Wollock in search of their quarry. Steven learns some things he never knew about his loved ones.

**THREE TEAMS** of sturdy horses were picketed nearby, and they all helped to harness them to the wagons.

"I'll put the fire out," V said and fetched two pails of water from a small creek that trickled nearby. The fire hissed when it met the water, and great clouds of steam boiled up toward the low-hanging tree limbs.

"We'll lead the horses to the edge of the woods," Wolf began. "I'd rather not saddle up now and catch my teeth on a branch."

The horses seemed almost eager to start and moved without needing prodding along a narrow track through the dark forest. They stopped at the edge of the open fields, and Wolf looked about carefully to check if anyone was in sight.

"The coast seems clear," he said. "Let's get moving."

"Hey," Amethyst called out. "Good friend, smith."

"It's Bismuth."

"Right," said Amy. "Come ride with me. I'll bet a conversation between honest men is much preferable to a night spent enduring the insults of an over-clever Q'zarnian."

Amethyst finished that sentence blowing a raspberry at V.

If V noticed the gesture, she seemed not to care.

"As it please you, friend Amethyst," Bismuth politely replied.

"Please, just call me Amy," said Amy with a smile.

"I'll lead," V spoke suddenly as she went over to the front. "I'm familiar with the back roads and lanes in this part of the country. I'll put us on the high road beyond Upper Geralt before noon. Bismuth and Amethyst can bring up the rear. I'm sure between them they can discourage anyone who might feel like tailing us."

"All right," Wolf agreed.

He clambered up onto the seat of the middle wagon, reaching down his hand to assist Aunt Pearl's ascent.

Steven quickly climbed up onto the wagon bed behind them both, nervous that someone might suggest that he ride alongside V. It was all very well for Mister Wolf to say that the two they had just met were friends, but the fright he had just suffered in the wood was far too fresh in his mind to make him anywhere close to comfortable with them.

The sacks of musty-smelling onions were lumpy, but Steven soon managed to push and shove a kind of half-reclining seat for himself among them just behind Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf. He was sheltered from the wind, Aunt Pearl was close, and his cloak, spread over him, kept him warm. He was altogether comfortable, despite the night's events and he soon drifted into a half-drowse. The dry voice in his mind suggested briefly that he hadn't handled the situation back in the woods very well, but soon it too fell silent, and Steven slept.

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He wasn't sure how many hours had passed when next he woke, but he was glad that his feet, now sore from the events of the night before, did not have to be called upon to do any further walking that day. Stretching, he readjusted himself upon the onion sacks to try to find a more comfortable position to doze, though between the bumping of the rickety wagon along the cobblestones and the chatter of people outside, it soon became clear that sleep wasn't going to be an option.

"What if he hasn't passed through Wollock?" Aunt Pearl asked Wolf in a low tone.

It occurred to Steven that in all that excitement, he never actually found out what exactly it was they were seeking. So he kept his eyes closed under the pretense of sleep and listened.

"Don't start with 'what ifs'," said Wolf irritably. "If we sit around saying 'what if', we'll never accomplish anything."

"I was only asking," Aunt Pearl replied sourly.

"If he hasn't gone through Wollock, we'll turn south-- to Mavros. He may have joined a caravan there to take the Great North Road to Wal'kofte."

"And if he hasn't gone to Mavros?"

"Then we go to Canaar."

"And then?"

"We'll see when we get to Canaar." His tone was final, as if he didn't want to discuss the matter further.

Aunt Pearl drew in a breath as though she wanted to deliver some final retort, but apparently decided against it and settled back on the wagon seat.

To the east ahead of them, the faint light of dawn touched the hovering clouds that crested over the mountain peaks, and they moved on through the tattered, windswept end of the long night in search for something which, though he could not even identify it, was so important that Steven's entire life had been uprooted in a single day.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

It took them four days to reach Wollock at their pace, a time for which Steven's feet were very grateful. The first day went quite well, since, though it was cloudy and the wind kept blowing, the air was dry and the roads were good. They passed quiet farmsteads and an occasional farmer bent to his labour in the middle of a field. Inevitably, each man stopped his work to watch them pass. Some waved, but some did not.

And then there were villages, clusters of tall houses nestled in valleys. As they passed, children came out and ran after the wagons, shouting and tumbling over themselves with excitement. The villagers watched, in idle curiosity, until they realised that the wagons were not going to stop, and then they sniffed and went about their business.

As the afternoon of that first day lowered toward evening, V led them into a grove of trees at the roadside, and they made preparations for the night. They ate the last of the ham and cheese Wolf had filched from Alger's pantry and then spread their blankets on the ground beneath the wagons. The ground was hard and cold, but the sense of being on some grand adventure tided Steven through the discomfort of it all.

The next morning, however, it began to rain. It started out fine and misty, the kind Steven would run about in delight as a child, but as the morning wore on, it settled into a steady drizzle. It didn't really bother Steven, except for the fact that the damp weather accentuated the musty smell of the onion sacks to unbearable heights. He huddled miserably between them, cloak pulled tight around him.

This adventure was rapidly losing it's allure.

The road became muddied and slick, and the horses struggled for every inch they gained up each hill and had to be rested often. On the first day, they had covered the better part of nine leagues. After the rain however, they were lucky to make five. 

To the ire of all involved, Aunt Pearl's demeanour soured with the weather, and she became more waspish and short-tempered as time wore on.

"This is  _idiocy._ " she snapped at Wolf about noon on the third day.

"Everything is idiocy if you choose to look at it in the proper light," he replied wistfully, knowing full well the reaction it would elicit.

"Why  _wagoneers?_ " she demanded. "There are faster ways to travel-- a wealthy family in a proper carriage, for instance, or Imperial messengers on good horses.  _Either one_ would have us in Wollock by now."

"And left a trail in the memories of all these simple people we've passed so wide, even a Drakan could follow it," Wolf explained patiently. "By now, Myr would have long since reported our departure to his employers. Every Isyaki in Delmarvia will be looking for us by now."

"Why are we hiding from the Isyaki, Mister Wolf?" Steven asked suddenly, hesitant to interrupt, but impelled by curiosity to try to penetrate the mystery behind their flight. "Aren't they just merchants, like the Shwareans and the Q'zarnians?"

"The Isyaki have no real interest in trading, Steven," Wolf explained. "Indratu are merchants, but the Isyaki are warriors. The Isyaki pose as merchants for the same reason we're posing as wagoneers-- so that they can move about more or less undetected. If you simply assumed that all Isyaki are spies, you wouldn't be too far from the truth."

"Haven't you anything better to do than ask all these questions?" Aunt Pearl asked petulantly. 

"Not really," Steven replied without thinking, then realising instantly afterward the mistake he'd made. 

"Good," she said. "In the back of Amethyst's wagon you'll find a stack of dirty dishes from this morning's meal. You'll also find a bucket. Fetch the bucket, draw some water from the stream up ahead, then go back to Amethyst's wagon to wash the dishes."

"In  _this_ weather?" Steven objected.

" _Now,_ Steven." she asserted firmly.

Grumbling, he climbed down off the slowly moving wagon.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

In the late afternoon of the fourth day they came over a high hilltop and saw below the city of Wollock, and beyond it, a laden grey sea. Steven caught his breath. To his eyes the city seemed massive. It's walls were thick and high, and there were more buildings within those walls than he had ever seen in his entire life.

But it was to the sea that his eyes were drawn. There was a sharp tang to the air. Faint hints of that smell had been coming to him on the wind for the past league or so, but now, inhaling deeply, he breathed in the perfume of the salty sea air for the first time in his life. His spirit soared.

"Finally," Aunt Pearl said.

V had stopped leading the wagon and came walking back. Her hood was pulled back slightly, and the rain ran down in rivulets down her nose to drip from its pointed tip.

"Do we stop here or go on down to the city?" she asked.

"We go to the city,"  Aunt Pearl said immediately. "Sleeping in a wagon is sooooo  _disgusting._  And I'm not going to sleep for another second in one when there are perfectly nice inns nearby."

"Honest wagoneers would seek out an inn," Wolf concurred. "and a warm taproom."

"Yes, my thoughts exactly." Aunt Pearl agreed.

"We have to try to look the part." Wolf shrugged.

And down they went, the horses' hooves slipping and sliding as they braced against the weight of the wagons.

At the city gate, two watchmen in stained tunics and donning rust-speckled heltmets came out of the tiny watch house just inside the gate.

"What's your business here in--" one of them began to ask V as he walked up to her.

V, her face upturned and her eyes wide, pouted her lips and pressed her arms together. This had the rather noticeable effect of compressing her frame and thrusting her chest forward. Up until that point, Steven had maintained a strict avoidance policy when it came to V, but it was at this time that Steven's interest in V was particularly piqued.

"Oh my good ser, please permit my passage here," she wheedled. "I am Helena Belladonna of Goku, a poor Q'zarnian merchant, hoping to do business in your  _wonderful_  city."

The man, clearly focused on something else, had trouble coordinating his tongue with his thoughts.

"We, uh, need to see... your uh.. trunk. I mean the  **wagons**! Trunk of your wagons, what's... in uh.. them." he practically drooled.

V giggled in response, a pleasant, playful noise, her body shuddering slightly with the sound.

"Of course, dear ser. I implore you to be quick though," she bent slightly toward him as he went, "I'd like to get out of this rain soon."

Steven noticed how the water caught on the front of her tunic, how each droplet it absorbed seemed to reveal more of the figure it hid. Her cloak drawn behind her, she let the rain fall freely onto her, squinting upward at the clouds absently, seemingly oblivious to the effect her damp clothing had on the two watchmen athwart her. He turned away, redfaced, and red-blooded.

He doubted they'd even made a thorough search as the man approached V again just as quickly as he'd left her.

He observed some sort of exchange of coins occur between them, and some parting remarks.

"Such a paltry fee!" gasped V in mock incredulity. "Are you sure this is allowed?" she asked shyly, biting her lip and looking to the other guardsman as though fearing reprisal.

"It's alright, fair maiden, I'm sure of it." the bumbling watchman reassured her. "This'll be our little secret." He winked.

V made to giggle again, returning the gesture with a seductive glint in her eye.

With that, she sashayed away, her flank bouncing with each sultry step. The wagons were moving again.

"Child's play," she remarked as she saddled up back alongside Amethyst.

"Maybe you should do it for a living then," Amethyst remarked.

"Tried. Didn't take." V replied.

Amethyst stared at her for a long while.

"Pfffft-HAHAHAHAH," she laughed boisterously. "Did you actually think--?"

"I mean, I don't know!" Amethyst replied, her purple face stained scarlet. "Girl of your talents..." she murmured under her breath.

"Oh you great big lug," V chided, punching Amethyst playfully in the side. "You know I'm not into that." she said in a half-smile.

Amethyst, her face still beet red, declined to comment further.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

From the hilltop, Wollock looked quite splendid, but Steven found it much less so as they clattered through the wet streets. The buildings all seemed the same with a kind of self-important aloofness about them, and the streets were littered and dirty. The salt tang of the sea which Steven had grown so fond of was tainted by the smell of dead fish, and the faces of the people passing them by was grim and unfriendly. Steven's first excitement began to fade.

"Why are all the people here so unhappy?" he asked Mister Wolf.

"They have a stern and demanding God." Wolf replied.

"Which God is that?" Steven asked.

"Money," Wolf said. "Money is a worse God than Black Diamond herself."

"Don't fill the boy's head with nonsense," Aunt Pearl said. "The people aren't really unhappy Steven, they're just all in a hurry. They have important affairs to attend to and they're afraid they'll all be late, that's all."

"I don't think I'd like to live here," Steven concluded. "It seems like a bleak and unfriendly kind of place." He sighed. "Sometimes I wish we were all back at Alger's Farm."

"There are worse places than Alger's, " Wolf agreed.

The inn V chose for them was near the docks, and Steven wondered if it was because she knew he liked the smell of the sea. The inn was a stout, sturdy thing, with stables attached and storage sheds for their wagons. Like most inns, the main floor was given over to the kitchen and the large common room with its rows of tables and large fireplaces. The upper floors had sleeping quarters for the guests.

"It's a serviceable spot," V announced as she came back out the wagons after speaking at some length with the innkeeper. "The kitchen seems clean, and I saw no bugs when I inspected our beds."

"I will be the judge of that," said Aunt Pearl as she climbed down from the wagons.

"As you wish, great lady." said V with a polite bow.

Aunt Pearl's inspection took far longer than V's, and when she returned it was nearly dark in the courtyard.

"Adequate," she sniffed, "but only barely."

"It's not as if we're planning to settle in for the winter, Pearl," Wolf said. "At most we'll only be here for a few days."

She ignored that. 

"I've ordered hot water to be sent up to our chambers." she announced. "I'll take the boy up and wash him while you and the others see to the wagons and horses. Come along now, Steven." And she turned and went back into the inn.

Steven wished fervently that everyone would stop referring to him as the boy. He did, after all, he reflected, have a name, and it was not all that difficult to remember. He was gloomily convinced that even if he lived to have a long grey beard, they would still speak of him as the boy.

After the horses and wagons had been attended to and they had all washed up, they went down again to the common room and dined. The meal certainly didn't match Aunt Pearl's, but it was definitely a step up from onion stew. Steven absolutely abhorred onions at this point, and was quite certain he'd never be able to look at one again for the rest of his life.

After they had eaten, the grown-ups loitered over their ale pots, and Aunt Pearl's face crinkled in disapproval.

"Steven and I are going up to bed now," she said to them. "Try not to fall down too many times on your way up."

Wolf, Amethyst and V all laughed at that, but Bismuth, Steven thought, seemed a tad ashamed.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

The next day, Mister Wolf and V left the inn early and were gone all day. Steven had positioned himself in a strategic spot in hopes he might be noticed and asked to go along; but alas, he was not; so when Bismuth went down to look after the horses, he accompanied him instead.

"Bismuth," he said after they had fed and watered the animals and the smith was examining their hooves for cuts or stone bruises, "does all this seem strange to you?"

Bismuth carefully lowered the leg of the patient horse he was inspecting. "All what, Steven?" he asked, his plain face sober.

"Everything," Steven said rather vaguely. "This journey, Amethyst and V, Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl-- all of it. They all talk sometimes when they don't think I can hear them. This all seems terribly important, but I can't tell if we're running away from someone or towards them."

"It's all confusing to me as well, Steven," Bismuth admitted. "Many things aren't what they seem--not what they seem at all."

"Does Aunt Pearl seem different to you?" Steven asked. "What I mean is, they all treat her as if she were a noblewoman or something, and she acts differently too, now that we're not on Alger's Farm."

"Mistress Pearl is a great lady," Bismuth stated. "I've always known that." His voice had that same respectful tone when he spoke of her, and Steven instinctively knew that it was useless to try to coax any admission about her unusual behaviour out of him.

"What about Mister Wolf?" Steven asked, switching tracks. "I always thought he was just some old storyteller."

"He doesn't seem like an ordinary vagabond," Bismuth admitted. "I think we've fallen in with some very important people, Steven, on important business. It's probably better that simple folk like us not ask too many questions, but rather to keep our eyes and ears open."

"Will you be going back to Alger's Farm when this is all over?" Steven inquired, choosing his words carefully.

Bismuth considered that, his gaze distant over the rain-swept courtyard of the inn. "No," he said finally in a soft voice. "I'll follow as long as Mistress Pearl allows me to."

On an impulse, Steven reached out and patted the gentle smith's shoulder. "Everything's going to turn out alright, Bismuth."

Bismuth sighed. "Let's hope so," he said and turned his attention back to the horses.

"Bismuth," Steven asked, "did you know my parents?"

"No," Bismuth said. "The first time I saw you, you were a baby in Mistress Pearl's arms."

"What was she like then?"

"She seemed angry." Bismuth began. "Angry and bitter and fierce. I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite so angry as the day I saw her with you. She talked with Alger for a while and then went to work in the kitchen-- you know Alger. He never turned away anyone in his whole life. At first she was just a helper, but that didn't last too long. Our old cook was getting fat and lazy, and eventually she went off to live with her youngest daughter. After that, Mistress Pearl ran the kitchen."

"She was a lot younger then, wasn't she?" Steven pressed.

"Nope," Bismuth said thoughtfully. "Mistress Pearl never changes. She looks exactly the same now as she did back then."

"I'm sure it only seems that way," Steven said. "Everybody gets older."

Bismuth chuckled. "Not Mistress Pearl."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    


	16. Two Can Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V has work to do before they leave for Mavros, and Steven tags along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note here that the Vidalia I'm imagining is the younger version, not the Mother Onion incarnation of Viddy, obviously.

**THAT EVENING**  Wolf and his sharp-nosed friend returned, their faces sombre.

"Nothing," Wolf announced shortly, scratching at his snowy beard.

"I might have told you that," Aunt Pearl sniffed. "Saved you the trouble."

Wolf shot her an irritated look, then shrugged. "We had to be certain."

The lush-chested giant, Amethyst, looked up from the mail shirt she was polishing. 

"No trace at all?" she asked, her booming gravelly voice back on display.

"Not a hint," Wolf said. "He hasn't gone through here."

"So where else could he be?" Amy asked, putting away her chainmail shirt.

"Mavros," Wolf said.

Amethyst rose and went to the window. "The rain is slackening," she observed. "But the roads are going to be difficult."

"We won't be able to leave tomorrow anyway," V said, lounging on a stool near the door. "I have to dispose of our onions. If we're seen carrying them out of Wollock it may seem suspicious, and we don't want to be remembered by anyone who may have the chance to speak with a wondering Isyaki."

"I suppose you're right," Wolf conceded. "I hate to lose the time, but there's no help for it."

"The roads will be better after a day's drying," V offered. "And wagons travel faster empty."

"Are you sure you can sell, them, friend V?" Bismuth asked.

"I'm a Q'zarnian," she replied confidently. "I can sell anything. We might even make good profit."

"Don't worry about that," Wolf said. "The onions have served their purpose. All we need to do now is to get rid of them."

"It's a matter of principle," said V airily. "Besides, if I don't try to strike a hard bargain, that too will be remembered. Don't be concerned. The business won't take long and it won't tarry us."

"Could I go along with you, V?" asked Steven suddenly. "I haven't seen any other part of Wollock except for this inn."

V paused to look inquiringly at Aunt Pearl.

Aunt Pearl returned her gaze evenly, apparently considering her unspoken petition.

"I suppose it won't do him any harm," she conceded. "And it'll give me the time to attend to some matters of my own."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning after breakfast, V and Steven set out, with Steven lugging a bag of onions over his shoulder. The diminutive lady seemed to be in extraordinarily good spirits, and her sharp pointed nose seemed to almost quiver.

"The whole point," she chittered as they tittered along the littered, cobblestone streets, "is not to appear too eager to sell-- and to know the market of course."

"That sounds reasonable," Steven replied politely, marveling at how quickly her demeanour had changed in the short time he had known her.

"Yesterday I made a few inquiries," V went on. "Onions are selling on the docks of Goku in Q'zarnia for a Q'zarnian silver coin per hundredweight."

"A what?" 

"It's a Q'zaran coin," V explained. "about the same as a silver Imperial-- not quite, but close enough. The merchant will try to bargain for our onions for no more than a quarter of that, but he'll be willing to go as high as half."

"How do you know that?"

"It's customary."

"How many onions do we have?" Steven asked, sidestepping a pile of dog shit in the street.

"We have," V pondered. "About thirty hundredweight."

"That would be--" Steven began, his face contorting while running the complex calculation in his head.

"Fifteen imperials," V supplied. "Or three gold crowns."

"Gold?" Steven asked. Because gold was so rare in country dealings, the word seemed to have an almost magic quality.

V nodded. "It's always preferable," she said. "It's so much easier to carry. The weight of all that silver's quite a burden."

"And how much did we pay for the onions?" Steven asked.

"Five silver," V replied.

"The farmer gets five, we get fifteen, and the merchant gets thirty?" Steven asked, incredulous and disgusted by the unfairness of it all. "That hardly seems fair."

V simply shrugged. "It's the way things are," she said flatly.

"There's the merchant's house." V pointed at a rather imposing building with broad steps.

"When we go in, he'll pretend to be very busy and not at all interested in us. Later, while he and I are bargaining, he'll notice you and tell you what a splendid boy you are."

"Me?" Steven asked, wondering what he had to do with anything.

"He'll think that you're some relation of mine-- a son or a nephew perhaps-- and he'll think to gain an advantage over me by flattering you."

"What a strange notion," Steven said.

"I'll tell him many things," V went on, chirping very rapidly now. Her eyes seemed to glitter, and her nose was actually twitching. 

"Don't pay any attention to what I actually say," she said. "And don't let any surprise show on your face. He'll be watching us both very closely."

"You're going to lie?" Steven asked.

"It's expected," V replied. "The merchant will also lie. The one of us who lies the best will get the better bargain."

"It's all so terribly involved," Steven said.

"It's a game, Steven!" V said in a merry voice, a grin plastered across her features. "A very exciting game that's played all over the world! Good players get rich and bad players don't."

"Are you a good player?" Steven asked.

"One of the best," V replied modestly. "Let's go in."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The merchant wore an unbelted fur-trimmed gown of a pale green colour with orange highlights and a close fitting cap. Steven realised it was almost exactly of the same cut as that other spice merchant in Upper Geralt. He wondered if all merchants looked the same.

He behaved as much as V predicted he would, sitting before a plain table and leafing through many scraps of parchment with a busy frown on his face while V and Steven waited for him to notice them.

"Very well then," he said finally. "Do you have business with me?"

"We have some onions," V said somewhat deprecatingly.

"That's truly unfortunate, friend," the merchant said, assuming a long face. "The wharves at Goku groan with onions just now. It would hardly pay me to take them off your hands at any price."

V shrugged. "Then perhaps I'll try the Wy-Atians or the Ainur then," she replied. "Their markets may not yet be so glutted as yours," She turned. "Come along, boy," she said to Steven.

Steven made to follow, when suddenly the merchant's voice called out from behind them. 

"A moment, good friend," the merchant began. V did well to hide the smile on her face as she turned. "I detect from your speech that you and I are countrymen. Perhaps as a favour I'll look at your onions."

"Your time is valuable," V offered courteously. "If you aren't in the market for onions, why should we trouble you further?"

"I might yet be able to find a buyer somewhere," the merchant protested, changing his tune now. "If the merchandise is of a good quality." He took the bag from Steven and opened it.

Steven listened in utter fascination as V and the merchant fenced politely with each other, each attempting to gain the advantage.

"What a splendid boy this is," said the merchant, suddenly seeming to notice Steven's presence for the first time.

"An orphan," V replied. "Placed in my care. I'm attempting to teach him the rudiments of business, but he's slow to learn."

"Ah," the merchant conceded, sounding slightly disappointed.

Then V made a curious gesture with the fingers of her right hand.

The merchant's eyes widened slightly, then he too returned with a gesture of his own.

After that, Steven had absolutely no clue of what was going on. The hands of V and the merchant wove intricate designs in the air, sometimes flickering so rapidly that the eye could scarcely follow them. V's fingers, long, slender and ladylike, danced intensely, and the merchant's eyes were fixed upon them, his forehead breaking into a sweat at the intensity of his concentration.

"Done, then?" V said finally, breaking the long silence in the room.

"Done," the merchant agreed somewhat ruefully.

"It's always a pleasure doing business with an honest man," V smirked.

"I've learned much today," the merchant said. "I hope you don't intend to remain in this business for long, friend. If you do, I might just as well give you the keys to my warehouse and strongroom right now and save myself the anguish I'll experience every time you appear."

V laughed merrily. "You've been a worthy opponent, friend merchant." She smiled sincerely.

"I thought so at first," the merchant replied, scratching his head. "but, I'm no match for the likes of you. Deliver your onions to my warehouse on Bedok wharf tomorrow morning." He said, scribbling a few lines on a piece of parchment with a quill. "My overseer will pay you."

V bowed and received the parchment. "Come along now, boy." she said to Steven, and led the way from the room.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  

"What was  _that?_ " Steven asked in confusion when they were out on the blustery street.

"We got the price I wanteeeeed," V sang smugly in a half-hum, obviously pleased with herself.

"But you didn't say anything!" Steven objected.

"We spoke at great length, Steven." V said. "Weren't you watching?"

"All I saw was the two of you waggling fingers at each other."

"That's how we spoke," V explained. "It's a separate language devised thousands of years ago by my people. It's called the secret language, and it's much faster than the spoken one. It permits us to speak in the presence of strangers without being overheard. An adept can conduct business while discussing the weather, if he so chooses."

"Will you teach it to me?" Steven asked, utterly fascinated.

"It takes a long time to learn it, Steven." V told him.

"Isn't the trip from here to Mavros going to take a long time?" Steven suggested.

V shrugged. "As you wish," she said. "It won't be easy, but it'll help pass the time I suppose."

"Are we going back to the inn now?" Steven asked.

"Mmmmmm, nope. We'll still need a cargo to explain our entry into Mavros."

"I thought we were going to leave with the wagons empty?"

"We are."

"But you just said--"

"We'll see a merchant I know," V explained patiently. "He buys farm goods all over Delmarvia and has them held on the farms until the markets are right in Flax and Shwarea. Then he arranges to have them freighted either to Mavros or Canaar."

"It sounds very complicated," Steven said doubtfully.

"It's not really," V assured him. "Come along, my dear, you'll see."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  

The next merchant was a Shwarean who wore a flowy blue robe and a disdainful expression on his face. He was talking with a grim-faced Isyaki as V and Steven entered his counting room. The Isyaki, like all of his race Steven had ever seen, had deep scars on his face, and his black eyes were penetrating.

V touched Steven's shoulder with a cautionary hand when they entered and saw the Isyaki, her expression darkening considerably. Then she stepped forward.

"Forgive me, noble merchant," she said ingratiatingly. "I didn't know you were occupied. My porter and I will wait outside until you have time for us."

"My friend and I will be busy for most of the day," the Shwarean said. "Is it something important?"

"I was simply wondering if you had cargo for me," V replied.

"No," the Shwar said curtly. "Nothing." He made to turn back to the Isyaki, then paused, and turned sharply to regard her.

"Wait, aren't you Helena of Goku?" he asked. "I thought you dealt in spices."

Steven recognised the name as the one V had given the watchmen at the city gates. It was evident that the crafty lady had used the name before.

"Alas," V replied. "My last venture lies at the bottom of the sea just off the hook of Flax. Two full shiploads bound for Tol Harith. A sudden storm, and I'm now a pauper."

"A tragic tale, worthy Helena," the Shwarean master merchant said, almost smugly.

"I'm now reduced to freighting produce," V said morosely. "I have three rickety wagons, and that's all that's left of the empire of Helena of Goku."

"Reverses and windfalls come to us all," the Shwarean said philosophically.

"So this is the famous Helena of Goku," the Isyaki said, his harshly accented voice quite soft. He looked V up and down, his black eyes probing. "It was a fortunate chance that brought me out today. I am enriched by meeting so illustrious and lovely a lady. Your reputation precedes you, my dear."

V curtsied politely. "You're too kind, noble ser," she said.

"I am Rohk-Nal-Do of  Fisyak," the Isyaki introduced himself. He turned to the Shwarean merchant. "We can put aside our discussion for a bit, Morgan," he said. "We will accrue much honor by assisting so great a merchant to begin recouping her losses."

"You're too kind, worthy Nal-Do," V said, curtsying again.

Steven's mind was shrieking all sorts of warnings, but the Isyaki's sharp eyes made it impossible for him to make the slightest gesture to V. He kept his face impassive and his eyes dull even as his thoughts raced.

"I would gladly help you my friend," Morgan said, "But I have no cargo in Wollock at the moment."

"I'm already committed from Wollock to Muralia," V said quickly. "Three wagonloads of Wy-Atian iron. And I also have a contract to move furs from Mavros to Canaar. It's the fifty leagues from Muralia to Mavros that concerns me. Wagons traveling empty earn no profit."

"Muralia," Morgan frowned. "Let me examine my records. It seems to me that I do have something there." 

He stepped out of the room, leaving Rohk, V and Steven alone.

"Your exploits are legendary in the kingdoms of the east, Helena," said Nal-Do admiringly. "When last I left Sivu-Isyak, there was still a kingly price on your head."

V laughed easily. "A minor misunderstanding, Rohk," she said. "I was merely investigating the extent of Shwarean intelligence gathering activities in your kingdom. I took some chances I probably shouldn't have, and the Shwar found out what I was up to. The charges they leveled at me were fabrications."

"How did you manage to escape?" asked Rohk in quiet wonder. "The soldiers of King Mal Shyeikman nearly dismantled the kingdom searching for you."

"I chanced to meet a Drakan gentleman of high station," V said. "I managed to prevail upon him to smuggle me out of the country."

"Ah," said Rohk, smiling briefly. "Drakan men are so notoriously easy to prevail upon."

"But so demanding," V agreed, feigning fatigue at the memory of it. "They expect full repayment for their favours,  _ **and then some**_. I found it more difficult to escape his clutches than I did from Sivu-Isyak."

"Do you still perform such services for your government?" asked Rohk casually.

"They won't even talk to me," V said gloomily. "Helena the spice merchant is useful to them, but Helena the poor wagoneer is quite another matter altogether."

"Of course," Rohk-Nal-Do said, and his tone indicated that he obviously did not believe what he had been told.

He glanced briefly at Steven without any seeming interest, but when their eyes met, Steven felt a shock of recognition. Without knowing exactly how it was that he knew, he was instantly sure that Rohk-Nal-Do of  Fisyak had known him for all of his life. There was a familiarity in that glance, a familiarity that had grown out of the dozen or more times that their eyes had met while Steven was growing up that Rohk, muffled always in a black cloak and astride a black horse, had stopped and watched and then moved on. Steven returned the gaze without expression, and the slightest hint of a smile, malicious and cruel, flashed across Rohk's scarred face.

Morgan returned to the room then.

"I have some hams on a farm near Muralia," he announced. "When do you expect to arrive in Mavros?"

"Fifteen or twenty days," V told him.

Morgan nodded. "I'll give you a contract to move my hams to Mavros," he offered. "Seven silver nobles per wagonload."

"Shwarean nobles or Delmarvian?" asked V quickly.

"This is Delmarvia, noble Helena."

"We're citizens of the world, noble merchant," V said pointedly. "Transactions between us have always been in Shwarean coin."

Morgan sighed. "I'd count my lucky stars to find you on a day where you weren't half so quick. Very well, worthy Helena, Shwarean nobles-- because we are old friends, and because my heart bleeds for your misfortunes."

"Perhaps we'll meet again, my lady Helena." Rohk said.

"Perhaps," V said, and she and Steven left the counting room.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  

"Cheapskate," V muttered as they reached the street. "The rate should have been  _ten_ , not seven."

"What about the Isyaki?" Steven asked. Once again there was the familiar reluctance to refrain from divulging too much information about the strange, unspoken link that had existed between him and the figure that now at least had a name.

V shrugged. "He knows I'm up to something, but he doesn't know exactly what-- just as I know he's up to something. I've had dozens of meetings like that. Unless our purposes happen to collide, we won't interfere with each other. Rohk and I are both professionals."

"You're a very strange person, if you don't mind my saying so, V."

V winked at Steven in response, her sly eyes twinkling.

"Why were you and Morgan arguing about the coins?"

"Shwarean coins are a bit purer," V told him. "They're worth more."

"I see," Steven said.

The next morning, they all mounted the wagons again and delivered their onions to the warehouse of the Q'zarnian merchant. Then, their wagons tumbling emptily, they rolled out of Wollock, southward bound.

The rain had ceased, but the morning was overcast and blustery. On the hill outside town, V turned to Steven, who was sitting in the seat beside her.

"Very well," she said. "Let's begin."

She moved her fingers in front of Steven's face. "This means  ** _Good morning"..._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ronaldo is the villain. I just thought of who in the AU I wanted to kill off first. I don't particularly like Ronaldo, so my gaze settled on him first. Hope y'all don't mind.


	17. The Thin Red Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the next village, Steven decides he could do with some alone time. But what starts as a nightly walk turns into some unexpected reconnaissance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traveling chapter. Action minimal, plenty of suspense though.
> 
> Also, the term Marikeen comes into play here. Remember seeing that in an earlier chapter? Yeah they're Isyaki with special abilities.

**AFTER THE FIRST DAY** , the wind blew itself out, and the pale autumn sun reappeared. Their route southward led them along the Wollock River, a turbulent stream that rushed down from the mountains on its way to the Gulf of Wy-Ate. This part of the country was full of hills and timber, but, since the wagons were empty, they made good time.

Steven paid little attention to the scenery as they trundled up the valley of Wollock. His attention was riveted almost completely on V's flickering fingers.

"Don't shout," V instructed as Steven practised.

"Shout?" Steven asked, puzzled.

"Keep your gestures small. Don't exaggerate them. The idea is to make the whole business clandestine, inconspicuous."

"I'm only practising."

"Better to break bad habits before they become too strong," V said. "And don't mumble, Steven."

"Mumble?"

"Form each phrase precisely. Finish each one before you go to the next. Don't worry about speed, that comes with time."

By the third day, their conversations were half in words and half in gestures, and Steven was beginning to feel quite proud of himself. They pulled off the road into a grove of tall cedars that evening and formed up their usual half-circle with the wagons.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How goes the instruction?" Wolf asked as he climbed down.

"It's acceptable," V replied. "I expect it will go more rapidly when the boy outgrows his tendency to use baby talk."

Steven was crushed.

Amethyst, who was dismounting, laughed hard.

"I always thought the secret language might be useful to know, but," Amethyst said, flexing her fingers, "these whip-grippin' fingers are wayyy too short for that."

"Couldn't you just shapeshift yourself some longer digits?" Steven asked honestly.

"Yeah, I  _could,_ but holding a shape for too long really takes it outta me."

"You mean like the form you're holding now, Purple Puma?" V asked wryly.

Amethyst paused. "That's different."

She opened her mouth to level a retort, but was interrupted by Bismuth.

"It's going to be a cold night," Bismuth said, sniffing the air. "We'll have frost before the morning."

Amethyst made to sniff the air also, then nodded in concurrence. "Looks like you're right, B. I'll go get the firewood then."

As Amethyst and Bismuth moved to the back of their wagon to collect the axes, Aunt Pearl, still in her wagon seat, suddenly sat very still.

"There are riders coming," she announced.

They all stopped talking and listened to the faint drumming sound on the road they had  _just_ left.

"Looks like we got company," said Amethyst grimly, producing a solitary studded bull-whip from her gem. "I count three," she said as she handed the axe over to Bismuth.

"Four," said V as she stepped to her own wagon to retrieve her sword.

"We're far enough from the road," Wolf said. "If we stay still, they'll pass without seeing us."

"That won't hide us from the Marikeen," Aunt Pearl said. "They won't be searching with just their eyes." She made two quick gestures to Wolf which Steven did not understand.

 _"No,"_ Wolf gestured back.  _"Let us instead--"_  He also made an unrecognisable gesture.

Aunt Pearl looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

"All of you, stay still now," Wolf instructed them. Then he turned toward the road, his face intent.

Steven held his breath.

The galloping sound was getting closer.

Then a most peculiar thing occurred. Though Steven knew he should be feeling fearful of the approaching riders and the threat they obviously posed, a kind of dreamy lassitude fell over him. It was as if his mind had quite suddenly gone to sleep, leaving his body still standing there watching, dull-eyed, the passage of those dark-mantled horsemen across the road.

How long he stood there he could not say; but when he roused from his half-stupor, the riders were gone and the sun had long set. The sky in the east had grown purple with the approaching evening, anf there were tatters of sun-stained clouds along the western horizon.

"Isyaki," Aunt Pearl said calmly, "And one Marek."

She started to climb down from the wagon.

"There are many Isyaki in Delmarvia, great lady," Amethyst said, helping her down, "and on many different missions."

"Isyaki are one thing," Wolf said grimly, "but Marikeen are quite something else. I think it might be time we move off the well-traveled roads. Do you know a back-way to Muralia?"

"Old friend," V replied modestly, "I know a back-way to every place."

"Good," Wolf said. "Let's move deeper into these woods. I'd prefer it if no wayward light from our fire reached the road."

Steven had seen the cloaked Isyaki only briefly. There was no way to be sure if one of them had been that same Rohk-Nal-Do he had finally met after all the years of knowing him only as a dark figure on a black horse, but somehow he was almost certain that Rohk had been among them. Rohk-Nal-Do would follow him, would be there wherever he went. It was the kind of thing he could count on.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bismuth had been right when he had spoken of frost. The ground was white with it the next morning, and the horses' hot breath steamed in the chill air as they set out. They moved along lanes and ill-worn tracks that were partially choked with weeds. The going may have been a little slower than on the main road, but they all felt much safer.

It took them five more days to reach the village of Winar, some twelve leagues north of Muralia. There, at Aunt Pearl's insistence, they stopped overnight in a somewhat rundown inn.

"I refuse to sleep on the ground again." she announced flatly.

After they had eaten in the dingy common room, and the adults had turned to their ale-pots, Aunt Pearl went up to her chamber with instructions that hot water be brought to her for bathing. Steven, however, made some pretext about how he was going to check the horses and went outside. It was not that he was in the habit of being deliberately deceptive, but it had occurred to him in the last day or so that he had not had a single moment alone in the time since they had left Alger's Farm.

He was not by nature a solitary boy, indeed he often spent his time with his playmates, but he had begun to feel quite keenly of late, the restriction of always being in the presence of his elders.

The village of Winar was not a large one, and he explored it from one end to the other in less than half an hour, loitering alone its narrow, cobblestoned streets in the crispness of the early evening air. The windows of the houses glowed with golden candlelight, and Steven suddenly felt a great surge of homesickness.

Then, at the next corner in the crooked street, in the brief light from an opening door, he saw a familiar figure. He could not be positive, but he shrank back against a rough stone wall anyway.

The man at the street corner turned in irritation towards the light, and Steven caught a sudden white gleam from one of his eyes.

It was Myr.

The unkempt man moved quickly out of the light, obviously not wishing to be seen, then he stopped.

Steven hugged the wall, watching Myr's impatient pacing at the corner. The wisest thing would have been to slip away and hurry back to the inn, but Steven quickly dismissed that idea. He was safe enough here in the deep shadow of the wall, and he was far too curious to leave without seeing exactly what Myr was doing here.

After what seemed like  _hours_ , but was really only a few minutes, another shadowy shape came surrying down the street. The man was hooded, so it was impossible to see his face, but the outline of his form revealed a figure dressed in the tunic, hose and boots of an ordinary Delmarvian. The man turned, and Steven caught sight of the outline of a sword belted at his waist, and that was far from ordinary.

While it was not precisely illegal for Delmarvians of the lower classes to bear arms, it was uncommon enough to attract notice.

Steven tried to edge close enough to hear what Myr was saying, but they only spoke briefly. There was a clink as some coins changed hands, and then the two separated. Myr moved off quietly around the corner, and the man with the sword walked up the narrow crooked street toward the spot where Steven stood.

There was no place to hide, and as soon as the hooded man came close enough, he would surely be able to see Steven. To turn and run would be even more incriminating. Since there was no alternative, Steven put on a bold facade and marched determinedly up towards the man.

"Who's there?" came his voice in the darkness, his hand going to his sword-hilt.

"Good evening, sir," Steven said, deliberately raising his pitch to the almost squeaky octaves of a younger boy. "Cold night, isn't it?"

Steven legs quivered with the desire to run. He passed the man with the sword, and his back prickled as he felt the man's suspicious gaze upon his back.

"Boy," the man said abruptly.

Steven stopped. "Yes, sir?" he said, turning.

"Do you live here?"

"Yes, sir," Steven lied, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Is there a tavern hereabouts?"

 _Thank the Diamonds._  Steven had just explored the town, and he spoke confidently. "Yes sir," he said. "You go on up this street to the next corner and turn to your left. There are torches out front, you can't miss it."

"My thanks," the hooded man said curtly, and walked up the narrow street.

"Good night, sir," Steven called after him, made bold by the fact that the danger seemed to have passed.

The man did not answer, and Steven marched on down the corner, exhilarated by his brief encounter. Once he was around it, however, he dropped the guise of a simple village boy and ran.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

He was breathless by the time he reached the inn and burst into the smoky common room where Mister Wolf and the others sat talking by the fire.

At the last instant, realising that to blurt out the news in the common room where others might overhear would surely be a mistake, he forced himself to walk calmly to where his friends sat. He stood before the fire, as if warming himself, and spoke in a low tone.

"I just saw Myr in the village," he said.

"Myr?" V asked. "Who's Myr?"

Wolf frowned. "A farm hand with way too much Alabastian gold in his purse to be entirely honest," he said. He promptly filled in Amethyst and V about the encounter in Alger's stable.

"You should have killed him," Amethyst grumbled.

"This isn't Wy-Ate," Wolf said. "Delmarvians are touchy about casual killings." He turned to Steven.

"Did he see you?" Wolf asked him.

"No," Steven replied. "I saw him first and hid in the dark. He met another man and gave him some money, I think. The other man had a sword."

Steven briefly explained the incident to them.

"This changes things," Wolf said. "I think we'll have to leave earlier in the morning than we anticipated."

"It wouldn't be hard to make that Myr lose interest in us," Bismuth mused. "I could probably find him and knock him on the head a few times."

That was very unlike Bismuth to say. The words earned grins from all involved, except for Steven who went wide-eyed.

"It's tempting," Wolf agreed. "But I think it might be better to just slip out of town early tomorrow and leave with no idea that we've ever been here. We don't really have the time to start fighting with everyone we come across."

"I'd like a closer look at this sword-wearing Delmarv though," V said, rising from her seat. "If it turns out we're being followed, I'd much like to know how he looks like. I don't like being followed by strangers."

"Discreetly," Wolf cautioned.

V laughed. "When have I ever done otherwise?" she asked. "This won't take long. Where did you say that tavern was, Steven?"

Steven gave her the directions.

V nodded, her eyes bright and her sharp nose twitching. She turned and left quickly, her cloak billowing behind her, making her look like a ghostly hooded spectre as she left the smoky common room into the chill night.

"Wolf," Amethyst began. Mister Wolf turned to face her. "I wonder, if we're being followed this closely, wouldn't it be better drop the wagons and this ridiculous disguise, buy good horses and simply make straight for Mavros at a gallop?"

Wolf shook his head. "I don't think the Isyaki are all that certain where we are," he said. "Myr could be here for some other dishonesty, and we'd be foolish to start running from the shadows. Better to just start moving quietly. Even if Myr is still working for the Isyaki, I'd rather just slip away and leave them all beating about the bushes here in central Delmarvia." He stood up. "I'm going upstairs to let Pearl know what's happened." He crossed the room walked up the steps.

"I still don't like it," grumbled Amethyst.

They sat quietly by the fire, awaiting V's return. Embers popped from the crackling flames, flying about and causing Steven, who was seated closest to the fire, to edge away from it slightly. It occurred to him as he waited that everything had changed a great deal since they left Alger's Farm.

Everything had seemed so simple then, with the world neatly divided into friends and enemies. In the short time since they'd left, however, he'd begun to perceive complexities that he hadn't imagined before. He'd grown wary and distrustful and he listened to that interior voice of his far more frequently, a voice that always advised caution if not outright guile. He'd learned not to accept  _anything_ at face value. Briefly, he regretted the loss of his former innocence, but the dry voice told him that such regret was childish.

Then Mister Wolf came down the stairs and rejoined them.

About half an hour later, V returned. "Thoroughly disreputable looking fellow," she said, standing in front of the fire. "My guess is he's a common footpad."

"Myr's seeking his natural level," Wolf observed. "If he's still working for the Isyaki that means he's probably hiring ruffians to watch for us. They'll be looking for people on foot, however, rather than six in wagons. If we get out of Winar early enough in the morning, I think we can elude them altogether."

"I think Bismuth and I should stand watch tonight," Amethyst suggested.

"Not a bad idea," Wolf agreed. "Let's plan to leave about the fourth hour after midnight. I'd like to have two or three leagues of back roads between us and this place come sun up."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

Steven hardly slept that night, for when he did, there were nightmares about a hooded man with a cruel sword chasing him endlessly down dark, narrow streets. When Amethyst woke them, Steven's eyes felt sandy, as though the weight of an ocean weighed down upon them, and his head was thick from restless sleep.

Aunt Pearl carefully drew the shutters in their chamber before lighting a single candle.

"It's going to be colder now," she said, opening a large bundle she'd had him carry up from the wagons. She took out a pair of heavy woolen hose and winter boots lined with lambswool.

"Put these on," she instructed Steven, "and your heavy cloak."

"I'm not a baby anymore, Aunt Pearl."

"Do you enjoy being cold?"

"Well no, but--" he stopped, unable to think of any words to justify how he felt. He began to dress. He could hear the faint murmur of others chatting softly in the adjoining chamber in that curious, hushed tone that men always assume when they rise before the sun.

"We're ready, Mistress Pearl," V's voice came through the doorway.

"Then let's leave," she said, drawing her hooded cloak over her face.

The moon had risen late that night and shone brightly on the frost-covered stones outside the inn. Bismuth had hitched the horses to the wagons a while ago and had already led them out of the stable.

"We'll lead the horses quietly out to the road," Wolf said in an almost half-whisper. "I see no need of rousing the villagers as we pass."

V again took the lead, and they moved slowly out of the courtyard.

The fields beyond the village were white with frost, and the pale, smoky-looking moonlight seemed to have leeched all the colour from them.

"As soon as we're well out of earshot," Wolf said, climbing up into the moving wagon, "let's put some significant distance between us and this place. The wagons are empty, and a little run won't hurt the horses."

"Indeed," V agreed.

They all mounted their wagons and set off at a trot. The stars glittered overhead in the crisp, cold sky. The fields were very white in the moonlight, and the clumps of trees back from the road, very dark. 

Just as they went over the first hilltop, Steven couldn't help but give Winar, as he did every other settlement they'd left before, a parting glance. A single flicker of light came from a window somewhere, a lone, golden pinpoint that appeared and then vanished.

"Someone's awake back there," he told V. "I just saw a light."

"Some early riser perhaps," V suggested. "But then again, perhaps not." She shook the reins slightly, and the horses increased their pace. She shook them again, and they began to half-gallop.

"Hang on, Steven," she instructed, as she reached forward and slapped the reins down smartly on the horses' rumps.

The wagon bounced and clattered fearfully behind the running team, and the chill night air, cold enough as-is, now reasserted itself with a fierce, bitter resolve, rushing at Steven's face as he clung to the wagon seat.

At full gallop the three wagons plunged down into the next valley, rushing between white frosted fields in the bright moonlight, leaving the village and its solitary light far, far behind.


	18. The Last Days of Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven's soliloquy is confirmed to some extent by Vidalia. They arrive at the farm in Muralia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An intermission chapter of sorts while I figure out whether to continue slow burning or start raw dogging this fic.

**BY THE TIME THE SUN ROSE,** they had covered a good four leagues distance, and V reined in her steaming horses. Steven felt battered and sore from the wild ride over the iron-hard roads and was glad for the chance to rest. 

V handed Steven the reins and jumped down from the wagon. She walked back and spoke briefly with Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl, then returned to the wagon. 

"We turn off at that lane just ahead," she told Steven as she massaged her fingers.

Steven offered her the reins.

"You drive," V told him. "My hands are frozen stiff. Just let the horses walk."

Steven clucked his tongue at the horses and spoke soothingly to them, shaking the reins slightly. Obediently, the team started out again.

"The lane we're on circles around to the back of the hill," V said, pointing with her nose since her hands were tucked inside her tunic. "On the far side of that, there's a copse of fir trees. We'll stop there to rest the horses."

"Do you think we're being followed?" Steven questioned.

"This'll be a good time to find out," V replied.

They rounded the hill and drove on down to where the dark firs bordered around the road. Then Steven turned the horses and moved in under the shadowy trees.

"This will do fine," V said, getting down. "Come along."

"Where are we going?"

"I want to have a look at that road behind us," V said, pointing. "We'll go up through the trees to the top of the hill and see if our back trail has attracted any interest."

And she started up the hill, moving quite rapidly, but making absolutely no sound as she went. Steven floundered along behind her, his feet cracking the dead twigs underfoot embarrassingly until he began to catch on. V nodded approvingly once he corrected himself, but said nothing.

The trees ended just at the crest of the hill, and V stopped there. The valley below the dark road passing through it was empty with the exception of two deer who had come out of the woods on the far side to graze in the frosty grass.

"We'll wait a while," V said. "If Myr and his hireling are following, they shouldn't be far behind." She sat on a stump and watched the empty valley. After a while, a cart moved slowly along the road toward Winar. It looked tiny in the distance, and its pace along the scar of the road was very slow.

The sun rose a bit higher, and they squinted into its full morning brightness.

"V," Steven said finally in a hesitant tone.

"Yes, Steven?"

"What's this all about?" It was a bold question to ask, but Steven felt that he knew V well enough now to ask it.

"All what?"

"What we're doing. I've heard a few things and guessed a few more, but it doesn't really make any sense to me."

"And just what have you guessed, Steven?" V asked, her half-lidded eyes very bright in her chiseled features. 

"Something's been stolen-- something very important -- and Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl-- and the rest of us, are trying to get it back."

"All right," V said. "That much is true,"

"Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl are not at all what they seem to be," Steven went on.

"No," V agreed, "they aren't."

"I think they can do things that other people can't do," Steven explained, struggling to find the words. "Mister Wolf... he can follow this thing-- whatever it is --without even seeing it. And last week in the woods, when the Isyaki passed, they did something-- I don't even know how to describe it, but it was almost as if they reached out and put my mind to sleep. How did they do that? And why?"

V chuckled. "You're a very observant boy, Steven," she said. 

Then her tone became more serious. 

"We're living in momentous times, Steven. The events of a  _thousand years and more_ have all focused  _on these very days._  The world, as I'm told, is like that. Centuries pass when nothing of any importance happens, and then in a few short years events of such tremendous importance take place that the world is never the same again."

"I think if I had my choice, I'd prefer one of those quiet centuries." Steven said glumly.

"Oh no," V said, her ever-apathetic features suddenly perking up brightly and her mouth curling into a ferret-like grin. " **NOW** is the time to be alive-- to see it all happen, to be a part of it. Now come the moments that make the blood race, where each breath we take is an adventure."

Steven let that pass. "What even is this thing we're following?" he asked.

"It's best if you don't even know its name," V told him seriously, "or the name of the one who stole it. There are people trying to stop us; and what you don't know, you can't reveal."

"I'm not in the habit of talking to Isyaki," Steven retorted stiffly.

"You don't have to, Steven," V said. "There are those among them, Marikeen, who can reach out and pluck the thoughts right out of your mind."

"That isn't possible," Steven asserted.

"Who's to say what's possible and what isn't?" V said sagely. The words brought Steven back to Alger's Farm, where he remembered a conversation he once had with Mister Wolf about the possible and the impossible.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

V sat on the stump in the newly-risen sun looking thoughtfully down into the still-shadowy valley, an ordinary-looking little woman in an ordinary-looking tunic and hose and a rough black shoulder cape with its hood turned up over her head.

"You were raised a Delmarvian, Steven." she said, "And Delmarvs are solid, practical men with little patience for such things as sorcery and magic and other things that can't be seen or touched. Your friend, Bismuth, is a perfect Delmarvian. He can mend a shoe, or fix a broken wheel or dose a sick horse, but I doubt he could bring himself to believe in the tiniest bit of magic."

"Wait, I wasn't just raised as a Delmarvian,  _I AM_ a Delmarvian," Steven objected. The hint implicit in V's observation struck at the very centre of his own sense of identity.

V turned and looked at him closely. "No," she said. "You aren't. I know a Delmarvian when I see one-- just as I can recognise the difference between a Flax and a Shwar or a Wy-Atian and an Aine. There's a certain set of the head, or a certain look about the eyes of Delmarvians that you don't have. You're not a Delmarvian."

"What  **AM I** then?" Steven challenged.

"I don't know," V said, her nose crinkling in confusion. "and that's very unusual, since I've been trained to know what people are. It may come to me in time though."

"Is Aunt Pearl a Delmarvian?"

"Of course not, Steven, don't be ridiculous." V laughed.

"That explains it then," Steven concluded. "I'm probably the same thing as she is."

V looked sharply at him.

"She's my father's sister, after all," Steven went on. "At first I thought it was my mother she was related to, but that was wrong. It was my father; I know that now."

"That's impossible, Steven." V said flatly.

"Impossible?"

"Absolutely out of the question. The whole idea of it's ridiculous."

 _Ridiculous?_ "Why?" asked Steven, bewildered.

V's eyes widened, realising that she had given away more than she had meant to. "Let's go back to the wagons," she said shortly.

They turned and went down through the dark trees with the bright morning sunlight slanting on their backs in the frosty air.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

They rode the back lanes for the rest of the day. Late in the afternoon when the sun had begun to drop into a purple bank of clouds toward the west, they arrived at the farm where they were supposed to pick up Morgan's hams. V spoke with the stout farmer and showed him the piece of parchment Morgan had given them in Wollock.

"I'll be glad to be rid of them," said the farmer. "They've been occupying storage space I sorely need."

"That's frequently the case when one has dealings with the Shwar," V observed. "They're gifted at getting a bit more than they pay for-- even if it's only for the free use of someone else's storage sheds."

The farmer glumly agreed.

"I wonder," V went on as if the thought had just occurred to her. "I wonder if you might have seen a friend of mine-- Myr by name? A medium-sized man with black hair and a case to one eye?"

"Patched clothes and a mood like an outhouse?"

"That's him," V said.

"He's been about the area," the farmer said, "looking-- or so he said-- for an old man and a woman and a boy. He said that they stole some things from his master and that he'd been sent to find them."

"How long ago was that?" V asked.

"A week or so," the farmer said.

"I'm sorry to have missed him," V said, feigning regret. "I wish I had the leisure to look him up."

"I can't for my honest life think why you would, missy," said the farmer bluntly. "To be honest with you, I didn't care much for your friend."

"I'm not overly fond of him myself, darlin'," V agreed, "but the truth is that that bastard owes me money. I could quite easily do without his companionship, but I'm lonesome for the money, if you take my meaning."

The farmer laughed.

"I'd take it as a kindness if you happened to forget that I asked after him," V said. "He'll likely be hard enough to find as it is even if he isn't warned that I'm looking for him."

"You can count on my discretion, lass," the stout farmer said, still laughing away. "I have a loft where you and your crew can put up for the night, and I'd take it kindly if you'd sup with my workers and me in the dining hall over there."

"My thanks, good ser," V said, curtsying lightly. "The ground's cold, and it's been some time since we've eaten anything but the rough fare of the road."

"You wagoneers lead adventuresome lives," the stout man said almost enviously. "Free as birds with always a new horizon just beyond the next hilltop."

"It's much overrated, man," V told him, "And winter's a thin time for birds and wagoneers both."

The farmer laughed again, about to clap V on the shoulder, then realising the touch might be a tad inappropriate, and slapped his knee instead. He showed her where to put up the horses.

The food in the good farmer's dining hall was plain, but plenty; and the loft was a bit drafty, but the hay was soft. Steven slept soundly. The farm wasn't Alger's, but it was familiar enough, and there was that comforting sense of having walls about him again that made him feel secure.

The following morning, after a solid breakfast, they loaded the wagons with the Shwarean's salt-crusted hams and bade the farmer a friendly good-bye.

The clouds that had begun to bank up in the west the evening before had covered the sky during the night and it was cold and gray and overcast as they set out for Mavros, fifty leagues to the south.


	19. Knives In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving finally in Mavros, the fellowship finds that the ghosts of their past have finally caught up to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up as the crew realises that not all is as it seems in their little town.
> 
> Also, remember the line of Hrod, protectors of the only artifact capable of restraining Black Diamond? I thought I might throw you guys a bone and add some more backstory to what happened to them.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter folks, it's my longest yet.

**THE ALMOST TWO WEEKS** it took them to reach Mavros were the most uncomfortable Steven had ever endured. Their route skirted the edge of the foothills through rolling and sparsely settled country, and the sky hung, grey, cold and foreboding, overhead them. There were occasional spits of snow, and the mountains loomed black against the eastern skyline.

It seemed to Steven that he would never feel warm again. Despite Bismuth's best efforts to find dry firewood each night, their fires always seemed pitifully small, and the vast white cold around them enormously large. The ground upon which the slept was perpetually frozen, the chill seeping, it seemed, straight into Steven's bones.

His education in the Q'zarnian secret language was the sole nourishing tonic that kept him even remotely interested in their adventure through those cold winter days, and he became competent, if not adept, at it by the time they passed Lake Canaar and began the long, downhill grade that led to Mavros.

The city of Mavros in south-central Delmarvia was a sprawling, yet unattractive place that had been since time immemorial the site of a great annual fair. Each year in late summer, Ainur horsemen drove vast herds of cattle through the mountains along the Great Northern Road to Mavros where cattle buyers from all over the West gathered in anticipation of their coming. Huge sums changed hands, and, because Ainur clansmen also commonly made their yearly purchases of useful and ornamental articles at that time, merchants from as far away as Olivia in the furthest southern reaches gathered to offer their wares. 

A large plain which lay to the east of the city was actually specifically reserved for cattle grazing and stretched for miles, yet was still inadequate to contain the massive herds which arrived at the height of the season. Beyond the pastures to the east lay the more or less permanent encampment of the Ainur.

It was to this city one midmorning at the tag end of the fair, when the cattle pens were nearly empty and most of the Ainur had departed and only the most desperate merchant remained, that V led the three wagons laden with the hams of Morgan the Shwarean.

The delivery of the hams took place without incident, and soon the wagons drew into an innyard near the northern outskirts of the city.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This is a respectable inn, P," Amethyst assured Aunt Pearl as she helped her down from the wagon. "I've stopped here before."

"That's exactly why I worry about it, Amethyst," Pearl replied flatly.

"Oof. Harsh, and uncalled for, P."

"These particular inns lie along the eastern edge of the town, great lady," V assured her delicately. "I know them well."

"I'm sure you do," Aunt Pearl said with an arched eyebrow.

"My profession sometimes requires me to seek out places I might otherwise prefer to avoid," she said blandly.

The inn, Steven noted, was surprisingly fresh and clean, and its guests seemed for the most part to be Delmarvian merchants.

"I thought there were many different kinds of people in Mavros," he said as he and Amethyst carried their bundles up to the chambers on the second floor.

"There are!" Amy said, "but each group tends to stay away from the others. The Shwar have their part of town, the Q'zarnians have another, and the Olivines in yet another. The Earl of Mavros likes it that way. Sometimes when things get rowdy in the heat of the day's business, it's best not to have natural enemies housed under one roof."

Steven nodded. 

"You know," he said as they entered their chambers to set down their luggage, "I don't think I've ever seen an Olivine."

"Hmmph, lucky you then," Amethyst said with open distaste, "They're an unpleasant race."

"Are they like the Isyaki?"

"No," Amy said, her gaze distant now, "The Olivines worship Green Diamond, the Matron Diamond of Serpents, and it's considered very flattering in Olivia to act like one. I don't find it all that attractive myself. Besides, the Olivines  _murdered_  the Hroden King, and all Sangrians have disliked them since then."

"The Hrodenites don't have a King," Steven objected.

"Not anymore they don't," Amethyst sighed. "They did once, though-- until Queen Olive Green Agate decided to have him murdered."

"When was that?" Steven asked, fascinated.

"Thirteen hundred years ago," Amy instantly replied, saying it as if it had only been yesterday. 

Steven paused, in the way people do when they don't expect to have an answer so quickly.

"That's... an awfully long time to hold a grudge, isn't it?" Steven said carefully.

"Some things are unforgivable, Steve-o," Amethyst said shortly while making her way down to the common room. "Let's leave it at that."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Since there was still a good part of the day left, V and Wolf left the inn that afternoon to search for those strange, lingering traces that Wolf could apparently see or feel which would tell him whether the object they sought had passed this way. Steven sat by the near the fire in the chamber he shared with Aunt Pearl, trying to bake the chill off his feet. Aunt Pearl sat by the fire too, sewing up a hole in one of his tunics, her shining needle flickering and gleaming in the firelight.

"Who was the Hroden King, Aunt Pearl?" he asked her.

At that, she stopped sewing. "Why do you ask?" she said.

"Amethyst was telling me about the Olivines," he said. "She told me that their queen murdered the Hroden King. Why would she do that?"

"You're full of questions today, aren't you?" she asked, her needle moving once more.

"I talk to her and Bismuth a lot when I'm washing dishes in the back wagon, Aunt Pearl." Steven said honestly, pushing his feet closer to the fire as he said so.

"Don't burn your shoes, Steven," she told him.

"V says I'm not a Delmarvian," Steven said. "She says that she doesn't know what I am, but that I'm not a Delmar."

"V talks too much," Aunt Pearl observed, her eyes never leaving the needle.

"You never tell me anything, Aunt Pearl," Steven continued, irritated.

"I tell you everything you need to know," she replied calmly, "Right now, it's not necessary for you to know anything about Hroden Kings or Olivine queens."

"You don't tell me  _anything!_ " Steven protested. "All you want to do is to keep me an ignorant child! I'm almost a man, and I don't even know  **what I am** \-- or  _ **who!** "_

"I know who you are," she said, not looking up.

"Who am I then?"

"You're a young man who's about to catch his shoes on fire."

Steven yelped as he jerked backwards, realising how hot his feet felt.

"You didn't even  _answer_  me!" he accused, standing up now.

"That's right," she continued in that same, infuriatingly calm tone.

_**"** _ _Why not!?"_

"Because it's not necessary for you to know that yet, Steven. When it's time, I'll tell you, but not a moment until."

"That's not fair," he said somewhat lamely.

"The world's full of injustices, Steven," she said. "Now, since you're already standing, why don't you fetch us some more firewood? That'll give you something useful to think about."

Steven glared at her and stamped across the room.

"Steven," she said.

"What?"

"Don't you even  _think_ about slamming that door."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------  

The evening, when Wolf and V returned, the usually cheerful old man seemed impatient and irritable. Very irritable. He sat down at the table in the common room of the inn and stared moodily at the fire. After a long while, he finally spoke:

"I don't think it passed this way," he said finally. "There are a few places left to try, but I'm almost certain that it  _hasn't been here._ "

"So, we move on to Canaar?" Amethyst rumbled, her thick fingers combing through her wild mane.

"We must," Wolf said, "Most likely we should have gone there first."

"There's no way you could've known," Aunt Pearl said, laying a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Her voice had an uncharacteristic tone of sympathy to it. "Why would he go to Canaar if he's trying to carry it to the Alabastian kingdoms?"

"I can't even be certain  **where** he wants to go at this point!" Wolf exclaimed in frustration. "Maybe he wants to keep the thing for himself! He's always coveted it."

"We're going to need some sort of cargo for the trip to Canaar," V surmised.

Wolf shook his head vehemently, his silvery beard whipping about. "It's not unheard of for wagons to move out of Mavros to Canaar bearing no cargo, and it's come to a point where we  _have_  tosacrifice our disguise for the sake of speed. It's forty leagues to Canaar, and the weather is turning bad. A heavy snowstorm could halt the wagons entirely, and I don't have time to spend the whole winter  _mired_  in a snowbank."

Just then, Bismuth dropped his knife suddenly while trying to scramble to his feet.

"What's wrong, B?" Amethyst asked quickly.

"I just saw Myr," Bismuth said in alarm. "He was in that doorway."

"Are you sure?" Wolf demanded.

"I know a person when I see them," said Bismuth grimly. "It was Myr all right."

V pounded her fists upon the table. "Idiot!" she cursed herself. "I underestimated the man."

"That doesn't matter now," Mister Wolf said, and there was almost a kind of relief in his voice. "The game is up, so our disguises are useless now. I think it's time for speed."

"I'll see to the wagons then," Bismuth said, standing up.

"No," Wolf stopped him. "Wagons are far too slow. We'll go into the camp of the Ainur and buy some good horses." He stood up quickly.

"What of the wagons?" Bismuth persisted.

" ** _Leave them_** ," Wolf insisted. "They're only a hindrance at this point. We'll ride the wagon horses to the camp of the Ainur and take only what we can conveniently carry. Quickly now, let's get ready to leave. Meet me in the innyard as soon as you can." 

With resounding nods all around the table, Wolf strode quickly to the door and out into the cold night.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was only a few minutes later that they all met near the door to the stable in the cobblestoned innyard, each carrying a small bundle. Hulking Amethyst's mail shirt jingled as she walked, and Steven could smell the oiled steel scent as though he were back at Bismuth's forge. A few flakes of snow drifted down through the frosty air and settled like tiny feathers to the frozen ground.

Bismuth was the last to join them. He came breathlessly out of the inn and opened a small handful of coins before Mister Wolf. 

"It was the best I could do," he apologised. "It's scarce half the worth of the wagons, but the innkeeper sensed my haste and bargained meanly." He shrugged then. 

"At least we're rid of them." he said, straightening. "It's not good to leave things of value behind. They nag at the mind and distract one's mind from the business at hand."

V laughed. "Oh, Bismuth," she said between breaths, "You're the absolute soul of a Delmarv."

"One must follow one's nature," Bismuth said.

"Thank you, my friend," Wolf said gravely, dropping the coins in his purse. "Let's lead the horses," he continued seriously. "Galloping through these narrow streets at night will only attract attention."

"I'll lead," Amethyst announced, producing a whip and stowing it on her belt. "If there's any trouble, I can deal with it quicker."

"I'll walk beside you, friend Amethyst," Bismuth said, hefting a stout cudgel of a cattle prod.

"You can call me Amy, B." said Amethyst in assurance.

"It's more respectful this way, good friend Amethyst."

Amethyst laughed. Her eyes grimly bright, she led her horse out through the gate with Bismuth close beside her. They walked out into the dark.

Taking his lead from Bismuth, Steven passed by the firewood pile and took a shorter hatchet. It had a comforting weight, and he swung it a few times to get a good feel for it. Then he saw Aunt Pearl watching him, and hurried along.

The streets through which they passed were narrow and dark, and the snow had begun to fall abit more heavily now, settling almost lazily through the dead calm air. The horses, made skittish by the snow, seemed to be fearful and crowded close to those who led them.

Steven felt his a peculiar chill, a prickly feeling that started at the nape of his neck and ran, icily down his spine. The dry voice in his mind stayed silent, but he could sense its presence. It was waiting. Every one of his senses went into high alert. Something wasn't right here. 

That was when he realised. The streets were empty. Other than the walking seven and their horses, the entire road was deserted.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

When the attack came, it was unexpected and swift. There was a sudden rush of footsteps in the alleys and back-streets around them, and from somewhere up ahead, the sharp clash of steel on steel as Bismuth fended off the first blow with his cattle poker.

Steven could see only shadowy figures outlined against falling snow, and then, as once before in his boyhood when he had struck down his friend Pinto in mock battle, his ears began to ring. Time slowed as he felt blood surge through his veins like hot lava. He leaped into the fight, and from somewhere behind him, heard and ignored Aunt Pearl's single cry out to him.

He received a smart rap on his shoulder from some blunt object, whirled and struck out with his hatchet. He felt the satisfying slice of blade into flesh and was rewarded with a sharp grunt from the man in front of him as he doubled over. He struck again and again, with the wrong end of the hatchet this time, swinging at those parts of his shadowy foe where he instinctively knew, though he knew not how, would inflict the most damage.

The main fight, however, surged around Amethyst and Bismuth. Amethyst was a whirling dervish of destruction, her whips flying about wildly, or so it seemed to her enemies. Each lash was met with groans from all about her, as each foe that dared to face her was rewarded with a stinging caress of her three-tailed whip across various parts of their body where it connected. The sound of Bismuth's heavy poker landing on someone's head reverberated about the street, and each time it landed, someone groaned.

Steven, his enemy out cold in the snow, watched and listened as Bismuth's cudgel came down for the fifth time, and, without knowing exactly why, smiled as he heard what had to be the crack of bone. But he had no time to enjoy the moment, however, as the dry voice in his mind warned him of impending danger.

" ** _The boy! There!_** " a voice rang out amid the commotion as Steven turned. 

Two men were running down the street towards him, one with a sword and the other with a wicked-looking curved knife. Knowing it was hopeless, Steven raised his hatchet in anticipation anyway, but V was there. The small woman launched herself directly at the feet of both men, and all three crashed into the street, a tangle of arms and legs.

V rolled to her feet first to a half crouch. Agile as a cat, she spun and kicked one of the floundering thugs solidly just below the left ear. The man sank, supine and twitching, to the cobblestones. The other scrambled away and rose just in time to receive both of V's heels square in the centre of his face as the bulb-haired lady leaped into the air, twisted and struck out with both legs. 

V landed, turned almost casually to Steven and offered a hand, helping him to his feet.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, almost tenderly.

"I'm fine," Steven replied. "But  _YOU!_  The way you took them out! You made it look soooo easy!"

"I'm an acrobat, Steven," she said dismissively, running a hand through her bulb. "It's easy once you know how."

Steven was sure he detected a hint of smugness in her voice. Then he turned to regard the two ruffians V had so effortlessly put down.

"They're getting away," Steven told him.

V turned, but the two of them had already hobbled into one of the dark alleyways adjacent to the street.

There was a triumphant shout from Amethyst, who was obviously having fun, and Steven saw that the rest of the attackers were fleeing.

At the end of the street in the snow-speckled light from a small window was Myr, almost dancing with fury.

" _COWARDS!_ " he shouted at his hirelings. "Cowards!"

Then Amethyst started after him, and he too bolted away.

"Are you alright, Aunt Pearl?" Steven said, crossing the street to where she stood.

"Of course I am," she snapped at him. "And don't you do that again, young man. Leave street brawling to those better suited for it."

"But Aunt Pearl I'm fine!" Steven objected. "I had my hatchet right here!"

"Don't you argue with me, Steven." she said dangerously. "I didn't go through all the trouble of raising you to have you end up  _dead_ in a gutter."

Bismuth came running. "Is everyone alright?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course we are," Aunt Pearl snapped peevishly. "Why don't you go see if you can help Old Wolf with the horses?"

"Certainly, Mistress Pearl." Bismuth said, deflated.

"Now  _that_ was fun," Amethyst said, her hard-light whip disapparating. "Not much blood, but satisfying all the same."

"I'm glad at least one of us thinks that way," Aunt Pearl replied acidly. "I don't much care for such encounters. Did they leave anyone behind?"

"Hmmmmmm. Nope. I'm sorry, Mistress P," Amethyst said. "The quarters were much too narrow for good strokes, and these stones are too slippery for good footing. I marked a few of them quite well, though. We managed to break a couple bones and dent a head or two. As a group, they were really better at running than fighting."

V came back from the alley where she had pursued the two who had dared to attack Steven. Her hood was drawn back and her bulbous hair was frazzled, disheveled and stained with more than a little blood, but her eyes were bright, and her grin vicious.

"Invigorating," she said, then laughed for no apparent reason.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wolf and Bismuth had managed to calm their wild-eyed horses and led them back to where Steven and the others stood.

"Is anyone hurt?" Wolf demanded, much to Aunt Pearl's exasperation.

"We're all fine, Mister Wolf." Amethyst answered. "We were just warming up for the journey is all."

Steven's mind was racing; in his excitement, he spoke without stopping to consider the fact that it might have been wiser to think the whole thing through first.

"How did Myr know we were in Mavros?" he asked.

V, the exact train of thought in her mind, turned sharply to regard Steven, her eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps he followed us from Winar," she speculated.

"No, that can't be it. We stopped and looked back all the time!" Steven said. "He wasn't following us when we left, and we've kept a watch behind us  _every day_."

V frowned. "Go on, Steven."

"I think he knew where we were going," Steven blurted, struggling against a strange compulsion not to speak what his mind saw clearly now.

"And what else do you think?" Wolf asked.

All eyes were on Steven now. 

"I think somebody told him," Steven said. "Somebody who knew we were coming here."

"Morgan knew," V said, "but Morgan's a merchant, and he wouldn't talk about his dealings, certainly not with someone like Myr."

"But Rohk the Isyaki was in Morgan's counting room when Morgan hired us." The compulsion was so strong now that Steven felt stiff.

V shrugged. "Why should it concern him? Rohk-Nal-Do didn't know who we were."

"But what if he did?" Steven struggled. "What if he isn't just an ordinary Isyaki, but one of the others-- like the one who was with those ones who passed us a couple days after we left Wollock?"

"A Marek?" V said, and her eyes widened. "Of course... if Rohk was a Marek, he'd have known who we were and exactly what we were doing..."

"And what if the Marik who passed us that day was Rohk-Nal-Do?" Steven fought to say. "What if he wasn't really looking for us, but just going south to find Myr and send him  _here_  to wait for us?"

V looked long and hard at Steven.

"Very good," she congratulated him softly. "Very, very good." He glanced at Aunt Pearl. "My compliments, Mistress Pearl. The boy you've raised is a true gem."

"What did this, Rohk-Naldo, look like?" Wolf asked quickly.

"An Isyaki." V shrugged. "He said he was from Fry-Isyak. I took him to be an ordinary spy on some business that didn't concern us." Her expression darkened. "My mind must have gone asleep."

"It happens when one deals with Marikeen." Wolf told her.

"Don't look now," Bismuth said quietly, " but someone's watching us, from that window up there."

Steven looked up slowly and saw a dark shape at a second-story window outlined by a dim light. The shape, much to his chagrin, was hauntingly familiar.

Mister Wolf did not look up, but his face turned blank as if he were looking inward, or his mind was searching for something. Then he drew himself up and looked at the figure in the window, his eyes blazing.

"A Marek," he said shortly.

"A dead one, perhaps," V said. She reached inside the folds of her tunic and withdrew a long, needle-pointed dirk. She took two quick steps away from the house where the Marek stood watching, spun and threw the dirk with a smooth, overhand cast.

The dirk sailed neatly in the air, whistling softly as it flew. It crashed through the window. There was a muffled shout, and the light went out. Steven felt a strange pang in his left arm.

"Marked him," V said with a grin.

"Nice one, V" Amethyst said admiringly.

"One has picked up certain skills," V said modestly. "Besides, if it was that bastard Rohk, I owed him that for deceiving me in Morgan's counting room."

"At least it'll give him something to think about," Wolf chuckled. "There's no point in trying to creep through town now. They know we're here. Let's mount and ride."

He climbed onto his horse and led the way at a quick trot.

The compulsion was gone now, and Steven wanted to tell them about Rohk, but there was no chance as they rode.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once they reached the outskirts of the city, they nudged their horses into a fast canter. The snow was falling more seriously now, and the hoof-churned ground in the vast cattle pens was already faintly dusted white.

"It's going to be a cold night!" V shouted as they rode.

"We could always go back to Mavros," Amethyst suggested. "Another fight or two'll warm the blood!"

V laughed merrily and put her heels to her horse again.

The encampment of the Ainur was three leagues to the east of Mavros. It was a large area surrounded by a stout palisade of poles set in the ground. The snow by now was falling thickly enough to make the camp look hazy and indistinct. The gate, flanked by hissing torches, was guarded by two, fierce-looking warriors in leather leggings, snow-dusted jerkins of the same material and pot-shaped steel helmets. The points of their lances glittered in the torchlight.

"Halt," one of the warriors commanded, leveling his lance at Mister Wolf. "What business have you here at this time of night?"

"I have urgent need of speaking with your herd master," Wolf replied politely. "May I step down?"

The two guards spoke together briefly.

"Very well, you may," one of them said. "Your companions, however, must withdraw a ways, but not beyond the light."

"Ainur!" V muttered under her breath. "Always suspicious."

Mister Wolf climbed down from his saddle, and throwing back his hood, approached the two guards through the snow.

A peculiar thing happened then. The elder of the two guards stared at Mister Wolf, taking in his silver hair and beard. His eyes went wide, impossibly wide. He quickly muttered something to his companion, then they both bowed deeply to Wolf.

"There isn't time for that," Wolf said in mild annoyance. "Convey me to your herd master, please."

"At once, Ancient One," the elder guard said quickly, and hurried to open the gate.

"What was that about?" Steven whispered to Aunt Pearl.

"The Aine are superstitious," she said shortly. "Don't ask so many questions."

They waited with snow settling down upin them and melting on their horses. After about half an hour, the gate opened again and two dozen mounted Ainur, fierce in their rivet-studded leather vests and steel helmets, herded six saddled horses out into the snow.

Behind them, Mister Wolf walked, accompanied by a tall man with his head shaved except for a flowing scalp lock.

"You have honoured our camp with your visit, Ancient One." the tall man said, "and I wish you all speed on your journey."

"I have little fear of being delayed with Ainur horses under us," Wolf politely replied. 

"My riders will accompany you along a route they know which will put you on the far side of Mavros within a few hours," the tall man said. "They wull then linger for a time to be certain you are not followed."

"I cannot express my gratitude enough, noble herd master," Wolf said, bowing to him.

"No, it is I who am grateful for the opportunity to be of service," returned the herd master, bowing in kind.

The change to their new horses took only a minute. With half their contingent of Ainur leading and the other half bringing up the rear, they turned and rode back through the dark, snowy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter, I dedicate as a gift to Master_of_the_Boot1. Thank you so much for always providing your honest feedback on each and every chapter of my fanfic, it has been a sole nourishing tonic that has really helped me to push out these chapters with such regularity.
> 
> To him and all of you reading this, I hope you're enjoying it so far and that you continue to enjoy it :)


	20. Into the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having experienced impoverished end of the spectrum, Steven tries to adapt to a sudden reversal of the roles they've been playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering where this sudden change in lifestyle came from, well it's very simple. I just rewatched Mr Greg, and I wanted to see the fellowship live in a penthouse.
> 
> End of discussion :P

**GRADUALLY, ALMOST IMPERCEPTIBLY,**  the darkness became paler as the softly falling snow made indistinct even the arrival of morning. Their seemingly inexhaustible horses pounded on through the growing light, the sound of their hooves muffled by the snow now lying foot-deep on the broad surface of the Great Northern Road. Steven glanced back once and saw the jumbled tracks of their passage stretching behind them and, already at the hazy grey limit of his vision, beginning to fill with concealing snow.

When it was fully light, Mister Wolf reined in his steaming horse and proceeded at a walk for a short time.

"How far have we come?" he asked V.

The ferret-like woman, who had been shaking the snow out of the folds of her cloak looked around, trying to pick out a landmark in the misty veil of falling flakes. 

"Ten leagues," she said finally. "Maybe a bit more."

"This is a miserable way to travel," Amethyst rumbled, wincing slightly as she shifted her bulk in the saddle.

"Think of how your horse must feel, then," V grinned at her.

"How far is it to Canaar?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"Forty leagues from Mavros," V told her.

"We'll need shelter then," she said. "We can't gallop forty leagues without rest, no matter who's behind us."

"I don't think we need to worry about pursuit just yet," Wolf said. "The Ainur will detain Myr and his hirelings or even Rohk-Nal-Do if they try to follow us."

"At least there's something the Ainur are good for," V said dryly.

"If I remember correctly, there should be an imperial hostel about five leagues further west of here," Wolf said. "We ought to reach it by noon."

"Will we be allowed to stay there?" Bismuth asked doubtfully. "I've never heard Shwar being noted for their hospitality."

"Shwareans will sell anything for a price," V assured him. "The hostel would be a good place to stop. Even if Myr or Rohk should evade the Ainur and follow us there, the legionnaires won't permit any foolishness within their walls."

"Why would there be Shwarean soldiers in Delmarvia?" Steven asked, feeling a brief surge of patriotic resentment at the thought.

"Wherever the great roads are, there you'll find the legions," V said. "Shwareans are even better at writing treaties than they are at giving short weight to their customers."

Mister Wolf chuckled. "You're awfully inconsistent, V," he said. "You don't object to their highways, but you dislike their legions. You can't have one without the other."

"Hey, I've never pretended to be consistent," the sharp-nosed lady said airily. "If we want to reach the questionable comfort of the imperial hostel by noon, hadn't we better move along? I wouldn't want to deny His Imperial Majesty the opportunity to pick my pocket."

"All right, alright," Wolf said. "let's ride." 

And he put his heels to the flanks of the Ainur horse which had already begun to prance impatiently under him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hostel, when they reached it in the full light of the snowy noon, proved to be a series of stout buildings surrounded by an even stouter wall. The legionnaires who manned it were not the same sort of men as the Shwarean merchants Steven had so often seen before. Unlike the oily men of commerce, these were hard, stony-faced professional fighting men in burnished breastplates and plumed helmets. They carried themselves proudly, even arrogantly, each bearing the knowledge that they were the muscle behind the long arm of the Shwarean empire.

The food in the dining hall was plain and wholesome, but dreadfully expensive. The tiny sleeping cubicles were scrupulously clean, with hard, narrow beds and thick woolen blankets, and were also expensive. The stables were neat, and they too reached deeply into Wolf's purse. Steven couldn't help but wonder at the overall cost of their lodging, but Wolf paid it all with seeming indifference as though his coin purse was bottomless.

"We'll rest here until tomorrow," the white-bearded old man announced when they had finished eating.

"Maybe it'll snow itself out by morning. I'm not too keen with all this plunging blindly through a snowstorm. Too many things can hide in our path in such weather."

Steven, who by now was numb with exhaustion, heard these words gratefully as he half-drowsed at the table. The others started talking quietly, but he was too tired to listen to what they said.

"Steven," Aunt Pearl came to him, finally. "why don't you go to bed?"

"I'm all right, Aunt Pearl," he said out of habit, mortified of once again being treated like a child.

" _ **Now** , _Steven," she said in that infuriating tone he knew so well. It seemed that all his life she had been saying  ' ** _Now_ ,** Steven, ' to him. But he knew better than to argue.

He stood up and was surprised to feel that his legs were trembling. Aunt Pearl rose also and led him from the dining hall.

"I can find my way by myself," he objected.

"Of course," she said. "Now come along,"

After he had crawled into bed in his cubicle, she pulled up the blankets firmly around his neck.

"Stay covered," she told him. "I don't want you taking a cold in the morning."

She laid her cool hand briefly on his forehead as she had done when he was a small child.

"Aunt Pearl?" he asked drowsily.

"Yes, Steven?"

"Who were my parents? I mean, what were their names?"

She stared at him gravely. "We can talk about that later," she said.

"I want to know," he said stubbornly.

She sighed. "All right. Your father's name was Gerald, and your mother's name Rosa."

Steven thought about that. "The names don't sound Delmarvian," he said finally.

"That's because they're not."

"Why's that?"

"It's a very long story, Steven." she said, blowing out the candle, "And you're much too tired to hear it now."

Steven wanted to retort, but he knew that while his mind was fully awake, his body was not, and so he said nothing. He did, however, reach out his hand to touch the single snow-white lock at her brow with the mark on the palm of his right hand.

As had sometimes happened before, a window seemed to open in his mind at the touch, but this time it opened on something far more serious. There was anger, rage even, and a single face-- a face that was strangely like Mister Wolf's and yet markedly different, was it's sole focus. A towering, dreadful pillar of fury that seemed to represent the hate of all the world's peoples' was directed at that face.

Aunt Pearl gently moved his hand away.

"I've asked you not to do that, Steven," she said matter-of-factly. "You're not ready for it yet."

"You're going to tell me what it is someday," Steven yawned.

"Perhaps," she said. "but not now. Close your eyes and go to sleep, Steven."

And then, as if that command had somehow dissolved his will, he fell immediately into a deep, untroubled and restful sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

By the next morning, it had stopped snowing. The world outside the walls of the imperial hostel was mantled in thick, unbroken white, and the air was filmy with a kind of damp haze that was almost, but not quite, fog.

"Misty old Delmarvia," V remarked ironically at breakfast. "Sometimes I'm amazed that the whole kingdom doesn't just rust shut."

They traveled all the day at a mile-eating canter, and that night there was another imperial hostel, practically identical to the one they had left that morning. So closely identical in fact, that Steven was almost convinced that they had ridden all day only to arrive back where they started. He commented on that to V as they were putting their horses in the stable.

"Shwareans are nothing if not predictable," V said. "All their hostels are exactly the same. You can find these buildings in Q'zarnia, Aine, Flax and any other place the great roads go. It's their one weakness-- this lack of imagination."

"Don't they get tired of doing the same thing over and over again?"

"It makes them feel comfortable, I guess," V laughed. "Let's go see about supper."

It snowed again the following day, but by now Steven had caught a scent other than that faintly dusty odour snow always seemed to have. Even as he had done when they approached Wollock, he began to smell the sea, and he knew his journey was at an end.

Canaar, the largest city in all of Delmarvia before Delmar and the major seaport of the north, was a sprawling place which had existed at the mouth of the Greater Canaar River since antiquity. It was the natural western terminus of the Great Northern Road which stretched to Wal'kofte in Q'zarnia and the equally natural north end of the Great Western Road which reached down across Flax into Shwar and the Imperial capital at Tol Maheshwar. With some accuracy, it could be said that all roads end at Canaar.

Late on a chill, wintry afternoon, they road down a gradual hill toward the city. Some distance from the gate, V made to get off her horse to charm the guards as per her routine, but Aunt Pearl made to stop her.

"Since we're no longer posing as vagabonds," she announced, "I see no further need for selecting the most disreputable inns, do you?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Mister Wolf mused.

"Well, I have," she said airily. "I've had more than enough of wayside hostels and seedy village inns. I need a bath, a clean bed and some decent food. If you don't mind,  ** _I'll_** choose our lodging this time."

"Of course, Pearl," Wolf replied mildly. "Whatever you say."

"Good," she said. And they rode on towards the city gate with the rest of them trailing behind her.

"What is your business here, in Canaar?" one of the fur-mantled guards at the broad gate asked rather rudely.

Aunt Pearl threw back her hood as she approached, her cloak flaring as she fixed the man with a gaze that could melt iron.

"I am the Duchess of Eva," she announced in tones that seemed to echo about the place. "These are my retainers, and my business in Canaar is  _ **my own affair**._ "

The guard, blinking, bowed respectfully.

"Forgive me, your Grace," he muttered. "We didn't mean any offense."

"Truly?" she said, her gaze still cold and her stare still dangerous.

"I did not recognise your Grace," the poor man floundered, squirming under her imperious stare. "May I be of any assistance?"

"Hmmph. Hardly," Aunt Pearl said, looking him up and down. "Which is the finest inn in Canaar?"

"That would be The Lion, my lady."

"And--?" she said impatiently.

"And what, my Lady?" the man said, confused by her question.

" ** _AND AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND IT MYSELF?_** " she screeched.

"I-I-It lies b-b-beyond the customs houses, my lady!" he stammered, cowering. "Follow this street until you reach Customs Square. Anyone there can direct you to The Lion!"

Aunt Pearl pulled her hood back up. "Give the man something for his trouble," she said over her shoulder and rode on into the city without so much as a backward glance.

"My thanks," the guard said as Wolf gave him a silver Imperial. "I must admit that I've never heard of the Duchess of Eva before," he admitted meekly.

"You're a very fortunate man," Wolf said.

"She's a great beauty," the man said admiringly.

"And a temper to match."

"I've noticed that," the guard said.

"We've noticed you noticing," V told him slyly.

The guard flushed again.

Then they nudged their horses on and caught up with Aunt Pearl.

"The Duchess of Eva?" V asked mildly.

"The fellow's manner irritated me," Aunt Pearl said loftily, "and I'm tired of putting on a poor face in front of strangers."

V blinked once, then grinned.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

At Customs Square, V accosted a busy-looking merchant trudging across the snow-covered paving.

"You-- fellow," she said in the most insulting way possible, pulling her horse directly in front of the poor, startled man. "My mistress, The Duchess of Eva, requires directions to an inn called the Lion. Be so kind as to provide them."

The merchant blinked, his face flushing at the ferret-like lady's tone, but transfixed by beauty he had obviously not expected to see. 

"Up that street," he said shortly, pointing. "Some goodly way, it will be on your left. There's a sign of a Lion at the front."

V sniffed ungraciously, then tossed a few coins  _into the snow_ at the man's feet, and whirled her horse in a grand manner. The man, Steven noted, was clearly outraged, but he  _did_ grope in the snow for those coins all the same.

"I doubt that any of these people will soon forget our passage," Wolf remarked sourly when they had gone some ways up the street.

"Oh, they'll remember the passage of an arrogant noblewoman, nothing more." V said merrily in a mischievous voice. "This disguise is as good as any we've ever tried!"

When they arrived at the inn, Aunt Pearl commanded not just the usual sleeping chambers but an entire apartment. Steven winced at the almost monumental bite that would take out of their finances, but again, strangely, Wolf did not seem to mind.

"My chamberlain there will pay you," she said to the innkeeper, indicating Mister Wolf. "Our baggage horses are some days behind us with the rest of our servants, so I'll require the services of a dressmaker and a maid. See to it."

And she then turned and swept imperially up the long staircase that led to her apartment, following the servant who scurried ahead to show her the way.

"The Duchess has a commanding presence, doesn't she?" remarked the innkeeper somewhat absently as Wolf began counting coins.

"She had indeed," Wolf agreed. "I've discovered the wisdom of not countering her wishes."

"I'll take your word for it then," the innkeeper assured him. "My youngest daughter is a serviceable girl. I'll dispatch her to serve as her Grace's maid."

"Many thanks, friend," V told him. "Our Lady becomes most irritable when those things she desires are delayed, and we're the ones who suffer most from her displeasure."

They trooped up the stairs to the apartments Aunt Pearl has taken and stepped into the main sitting room, a splendid chamber  _far_ richer than any Steven had ever seen before. The walls were covered by tapestries with intricate pictures woven into the fabric. A wealth of candles, real wax instead of smoky tallow-- gleamed in sconces on the walls and in a massive candelabra on the polished table. A good warm fire danced merrily on the hearth, and a large carpet of a curious design lay on the floor.

Aunt Pearl  was standing before a fire, warming her hands. 

"See? Isn't this better than some shabby, wharfside inn reeking of fish and unwashed sailors?" she asked.

"If the Duchess of Eva would forgive my saying so," Wolf said somewhat tartly, "this is  _hardly_ the way to escape notice, and the cost of these lodgings could feed a legion for a week!"

"Don't get parsimonious in your dotage, Old Wolf," she said. "No one takes a spoiled noblewoman seriously, and your wagons weren't able to keep that disgusting Myr from finding us. This guise is at least comfortable, and it permits us to move rapidly."

Wolf grunted. "I only hope we won't regret all this."

"Stop grumbling, old man."

"Have it your way, Pearl."

"I intend to," she replied loftily.

"How are we to behave, Mistress Pearl?"Bismuth asked almost hesitantly. Her sudden regal manner had obviously confused him. "I'm not familiar with the ways of the gentry."

"it's quite simple, Bismuth," her tone dampening and becoming gentle as she eyed him up and down, noting his plain, dependable face and solid competence. "How would you like to be the chief groom to the Duchess of Eva? And master of her stables?"

Bismuth laughed comfortably. "Noble titles for work I've done all my life," he said. "I can manage the work easily enough, but the titles might grow abit heavy."

"You'll do splendidly, friend Bismuth," V assured him. "That honest face of yours makes people believe anything you choose to tell them. If I had a face like yours, I could steal half the world."

V then turned to Aunt Pearl. "And what role am I to play, my Lady?"

"You'll be my reeve," she said. "The thievery usually associated with the position should suit you."

V bowed ironically.

"And me, Miss P?" Amethyst said, grinning openly.

"My man-at-arms," she said. "I doubt that anyone would believe you to be a dancing master. Just stand around looking dangerous."

"Ohhhh yeah. I can do dangerous," said Amethyst with a vicious, sly grin.

"And me, Aunt Pearl?" Steven asked. "What do I do?"

"You can be my page."

"What does a page do?"

"You fetch things for me."

"I've done that for you all my life! Is that what it's called?"

"Don't be impertinent, Steven. You also answer doors and announce visitors; and when I'm feeling down, you may sing to me."

" _ **Sing**?_ " he said incredulously. "But I've never done  ** _that_** before! My voice isn't right for it!"

"You'll do just fine, my dear."

"And I've been appointed as your Grace's chamberlain," Wolf said.

"My chief steward," she told him. "Manager of my estates and of my purse."

"Somehow I knew I would be a part of it."

Just then, there was a timid rap at the door.

"See who that is, Steven." Aunt Pearl said.

When he opened the door, Steven found a young girl with light brown hair in a sober dress and starched apron and cap standing outside. She had very large brown eyes that looked at him apprehensively.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I've been sent to wait upon the duchess," she said, meekly.

"Your maid has arrived, your Grace," Steven announced.

"Splendid," Aunt Pearl sang. "Come in, child."

The girl entered the room.

"What a lovely thing you are," Aunt Pearl said.

"Thank you, my Lady," the girl answered with a curtsy and a rosy blush. Steven felt something stir within him.

"And what is your name?"

"I am called Isabella, my Lady."

"What a pretty name," Aunt Pearl said. "Now, to important matters. Is there a bath on the premises?"

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	21. From Nobility to Royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven and friends spend a day in the ambience of luxury, only to be called upon by even higher authorities...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a much deserved break for our fellowship as they get to kick back and relax.
> 
> So much needed heart-to-heart between our adorable hulk of a purple gem and Steve-o, especially after he's been getting so much of it with Vidalia.

**IT WAS STILL SNOWING**  the next morning. The roofs of nearby houses were piled high with white, and the narrow streets were deep with it.

"I think we're close to the end of our search," Mister Wolf said as he stared intently out through the rippled glass of the tapestry room window.

"It's very unlikely that the one we're after would stay in Camaar for long," V said.

"True," Wolf agreed, "but once we've found his trail, we'll be able to move around more rapidly. Let's go into the city and see if I'm right."

And off they went once more.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After they left, Steven sat for quite a while talking to Isabella, who seemed to be about his own age. Although she wasn't quite as pretty as Elyne, Steven found her soft-spoken voice and large brown eyes  _very_ attractive. Things were going along well between them until Aunt Pearl's dressmaker arrived and Bella's presence was required in the chamber where the Duchess of Eva was being fitted for new gowns.

Since Bismuth, obviously ill at ease in the luxurious surroundings of their quarters, had adjourned to the stables after breakfast, Steven was left in the company of the giant Amethyst, who worked patiently with a small stone, polishing a nick in the edge of her whip-- a momento from the skirmish in Mavros. Steven had always been comfortable with the boisterous and often talkative purple gem, and so it was that he spent the morning getting to know more about her.

"So you're a gem?" Steven thought to ask the first question that came to his mind.

"Yeap," she rumbled, her eyes never leaving the whip.

"So.... how do you guys..." Steven struggled to phrase his words. "You know...?"

"How do we what?" Amethyst asked, confused.

"Are you guys born... or are you?" Steven asked, flushing.

"OHHH, HAHAH," Amethyst laughed, her hulking form rumbling with the exertion. "Well, that's a long story Steve-o."

"Do I get to hear it?"

"Hmmmm," Amethyst pondered. She looked out the window, apparently seeming to deliberate over whether or not she should tell, but the smile he saw on her face already gave Steven his answer.

"Well, all right, I suppose we've got time." she conceded.

And so Steven received a history lesson on the origins of gems. He learnt about the gem nurseries they called 'kindergartens' and how the Diamonds themselves breathed their essence into each seed they implanted into the ground. He marveled at the idea of emerging from the ground a fully-fledged adult, with everything you needed to know about the world already in one's head from the moment they were born. 

Most of all, he felt a slight pang of jealousy at not being born a gem. Of being an adult and being treated like one from the day he was made.

"--It's not all that glamorous, though." Amethyst's voice brought him back to reality.

Steven blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"It's not all that great, being a gem."

"Wait what? Why? Look at you," Steven began, "You can be anything you want, you can be anyone you want. Why wouldn't that be amazing?"

"Well yeah, but... I live forever, Steve-o."

"And that's a bad thing?" Steven asked, confused.

"Well, no not exactly but... we gems live amongst other humans too, and in many ways, they're just like us! They can be funny and smart and charming and...." She said, her gaze turning distant.

"And...?" Steven asked, his tone still uncomprehending.

Amethyst turned to him slowly. Steven stared straight into her eyes, and saw something he hadn't expected. 

Anguish. 

He decided it prudent to change the subject.

"So uh.... what's the deal with Alabastians?" he prodded.

"Oh, them? Whaddaya wanna know?" she replied, any hint of her former sadness gone.

"I mean, there's Indratu and Drakans and Isyaki, but are they all... Alabastian?"

"Well, yes and no.... You see Steven, Alabastians are like Sangrians. They used to all be one people, but now they've diverted into different tribes. I'm Wy-Atian, V's Q'zarnian, but there's also the Ainur and the Hrodenites. All of us are Sangrian." she explained.

"So... Isyaki, Drakan, Indratu and Marikeen, those are all tribes too?" Steven surmised.

"Well, not exactly. Some of them who live wayyyy in the East aren't tribal at all, and they all live as one people. And the Marikeen, well..." Amethyst trailed off.

"What about them?" Steven pressed.

"They don't have a place," Amethyst replied grimly. "The Marikeen are the priests of Black Diamond, and they're everywhere in the lands of Alabastia. They're the ones who perform sacrifices to Black Diamond. They've spilled more Alabastian blood than a dozen I'chir Gelars."

Steven shuddered. "Why should Black take such pleasure in the slaughter of her own people?" he asked.

"I don't know, Steven." Amethyst shrugged. "She's a twisted and evil God. Some say she was made mad when she used the Grey Ward to crack the world and the Ward repaid her by burning out her eye and corrupting her body."

"How could the world be cracked?" Steven asked, confused. "I never could understand that part of the story."

"The power of the Grey Ward is such that it can accomplish anything," Amethyst told him. "When Ol' One-eye raised it, the earth was split apart by its power, and the seas came in to drown the land. The story's really old, and I wasn't there to see it, but it's probably true."

"Where is the Ward now?" Steven asked suddenly.

Amethyst stiffened, suddenly realising that he had fabricated this entire line of questioning to lead her into this trap. Caught in a corner, she stared at him, her purple eyes intense and her visage thoughtful, but she didn't say anything.

"You know what I think?" Steven said on a sudden impulse. "I think it's the Grey Ward that's been stolen. I think it's the Ward that Mister Wolf is trying to find."

"And I think it would be good for both of us if you didn't think so much about this." Amethyst warned.

"But I  _want to know_ ," Steven protested, his curiosity driving him on even in the face of Amethyst's words and now, the warning voice in his mind. "

Everyone treats me like I'm some kind of ignorant boy. All I do is tag along with no idea why we're doing this or  _what we're even doing_! Who  _is_ Mister Wolf anyway? Why did the Ainur behave the way they did when they saw him? How could he follow something that he can't see?  _Please_  tell me, Amethyst.  _Please._ "

Amethyst didn't even pause to consider his plea before laughing and replying.

"No can do, Steve-o. Your Aunt would pull out my hair whisker by whisker if I made  _that_  mistake."

"Wait, you're not afraid of her, are you?"

"Afraid?" Amethyst laughed a little more, tears gathering in her eyes. Steven chuckled nervously, thinking they were on the same page, before she replied.

"No, Steven. I'm terrified of her," she said very seriously.

"Aunt Pearl?" Steven asked incredulously.

"Aren't you the least bit scared of her?" Amethyst asked pointedly.

" _NO!_  Well, I mean--" Steven began, realising that it wasn't precisely true. "Well, not really afraid. It's more--"

He left it hanging, not quite sure how to explain it.

"Exactly." Amethyst replied. "I'm no more a fool than you are, my dude. You're too full of questions that I'd be much happier not answering. If you really want to know these things, you're going to have to ask her directly."

"She won't tell me," Steven said glumly. "She won't tell me anything. She won't even tell me about my parents-- not really."

Amethyst frowned. "That's weird." she said.

"I don't think they were Delmarvians," Steven continued. "Their names weren't Delmarvian, and V says that I'm not a Delmarv, at least, I don't look like one."

Amethyst studied him closely. "You know, now that you mention it, you don't. Not at all. You actually look more like a Hrodenite than anything else, but not quite that either." she mused.

"Is Aunt Pearl a Hrodenite?"

"Okay, now we're getting back into that field of question that I shouldn't be answering."

"I'm going to find out someday," Steven warned.

"But not today." Amy said. "Come with me, I need some exercise, and I think it's time you learned."

"Learn what?" 

"Learn how to use a sword."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late that afternoon, when Steven's arm had begun to ache from the effort of swinging Amethyst's heavy sword and the whole idea of learning the skills of a warrior had become a great deal less exciting, Mister Wolf and V returned. Their clothes were wet from the snow through which they had trudged all day, but Wolf's eyes and his face had a curiously bright and exultant quality to it as he led them all upstairs to the sitting room.

"Ask your Aunt to join us," he told Steven as he removed his soggy mantle and stepped to the fire to warm himself.

Steven sensed that this was not the time for questions. He hurried to the polished door where Aunt Pearl had been closeted with her dressmaker all day and rapped.

"What is it?" her voice came from inside.

"Mister-uh-that is, your chamberlain had returned, my Lady," Steven said, remembering at the last moment that she was not alone. "He requests a word with you."

"Oh, very well," she said.

The door opened and the dressmaker promptly made her exit, with Aunt Pearl following a minute later, firmly closing the door behind her.

Steven gasped. The rich, peach velvet gown she wore made her so magnificent, that she quite literally took his breath away. He stared at her in hapless admiration.

"Where is he?" she asked. "Don't stand and gape, Steven, it's not polite."

"You look  _beautiful_ , Aunt Pearl." Steven blurted.

"Yes dear," she patted his cheek. "I know. So where is the Old Wolf?"

"In the room with the tapestries," Steven said, still unable to take his eyes from her.

"Come along then, Steven," she said and swept down the short hall to the sitting room. They entered to find all the others standing by the fireplace.

"Well?" she asked.

Wolf looked up at her, his eyes still bright. 

"An excellent choice, Pearl," he said admiringly. "Blue has always been your best colour."

"Do you like it?" she asked, holding out her arms and pirouetting almost girlishly so that all might see how fine she looked. "I hope it pleases you, old man, because it's costing you a great deal of money."

Wolf laughed. "Why am I not surprised," he said.

The effect of Aunt Pearl's gown on Bismuth was painfully obvious. The poor man's eyes literally bulged, and his face turned alternately very pale and then very red, then finally settled into an expression of such helplessness that Steven was touched to the quick by it.

V and Amethyst in curious unison both bowed deeply and wordlessly to Aunt Pearl, and her eyes sparkled at their silent tribute.

"It's been here," Wolf announced seriously.

"You're certain?" Aunt Pearl demanded.

He nodded. "I could feel the memory of its passage in the very cobblestones."

"Did it come by sea?"

"No. He probably came ashore with it in some secluded cove up the coast and then traveled here by land."

"And took ship again?"

"I doubt that," Wolf said. "I know him well. He's more comfortable in the air than on the sea."

"Besides which," Amethyst said, "one word to King Thur-Man of Wy-Ate would have put a hundred warships on his trail. No one can hide on the sea from the ships of Wy-Atia, and he knows that."

"You're right," Wolf agreed. "I think he'll avoid the domains of the Sangrians. That's probably why he chose no to pass along the North Road through Aine and Q'zarnia. The Spirit of Pink Diamond is strong in the kingdoms of Sangria, and not even this thief is bold enough to risk a confrontation with the Lion-God."

"Which leaves Flaxia," V said, "or the land of the Phenai-Dians."

"Flaxia, I think," Wolf said. "The wrath of Dia is even more fearsome than that of Pink."

"Forgive me," Bismuth said, his eyes still on Aunt Pearl. "This is all so confusing. I've just never heard just exactly who this thief is."

"I'm sorry, gentle Bismuth," Wolf said. "It's not a good idea to speak his name. He has certain powers which might make it possible for him to know our every move if we alert him to our location, and he can hear us speak his name from over a thousand leagues away."

"A sorcerer?" Bismuth asked, unbelievingly.

"The word isn't one I'd use," Wolf said, a pained expression on his face. "It's a term used by men who don't understand that particular art. Instead, let's call him 'thief', though there are a few other names I'd call him by which are far less kindly."

"Can we be certain he'll make a move for the Alabastian kingdoms?" V said, frowning. "If so, wouldn't it be quicker to take the first ship directly to Tol Harith and pick up his trail on the Southern Caravan Route directly into Sivu-Isyak?"

Wolf shook his head. "Better to stay with this trail, now that we've finally found it. We don't know what he intends. Maybe he wants to keep the thing he's stolen for himself rather than deliver it over to the Mareks. He might even seek sanctuary in Olivia."

"He would never be able to do that without the connivance of Olive Green Agate."

"It wouldn't be the first time that the Snake People have tampered with things that are none of their concern," Wolf pointed out.

"If that turns out to be true," Aunt Pearl said grimly, "I think I'll give myself the pleasure to deal with the snakehead permanently."

Amethyst grinned at that.

"It's too early to know," Wolf said. "Tomorrow we'll buy provisions and ferry across the river into Flaxia. I'll take up the trail there. For the time being, all we can do is follow that trail. Once we know for certain where it leads, we'll be able to consider our alternatives."

 

From the evening-darkened innyard there suddenly came the sound of many horses.

Amethyst stepped quickly to the window and glanced out, before ducking down hastily, cursing.

"Soldiers!" she said shortly.

"Here?" V said, also hurrying to the window.

"They won't be interested in us," Aunt Pearl said.

"Unless they aren't what they seem," V said. "Uniforms of one kind or another aren't that hard to come by."

"They aren't Isyaki," Amethyst reported, breathing easier. "I'd recognise an Isyaki."

"Myr isn't an Isyaki either," V quipped, staring into the innyard.

"See if you can hear what they say," Wolf instructed.

"No problem," said Amethyst.

She carefully opened one of the window a crack, and all the candles flickered in the gust of icy wind. In the yard below the captain of the soldiers was speaking with the innkeeper.

"He's a man of somewhat more than medium height, with white hair and a short white beard. He may be travelling with some others." she heard the soldier say.

"There's such a one here, your Honour," the innkeeper said dubiously, "but I'm sure he isn't the one you seek. This one is chief steward to the Duchess of Eva, who honours my inn with her presence."

"The Duchess of  _where?_ "

"Of Eva," the innkeeper replied. "A most noble lady of great beauty and commanding presence."

"I wonder if I might have a word with her Grace," said the captain dryly, dismounting.

"I'll ask her if she will receive Your Honour," the innkeeper replied.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amethyst closed the window. 

"I'll deal with this meddlesome captain," she said firmly.

"No," said Wolf. "He's got too many soldiers with him, and if they are who they seem to be, they're good men who haven't done us any harm."

"There's the back stairs," V suggested. "We could be three streets away before he reached our door."

"And if he stationed soldiers at the back of the inn?" Aunt Pearl suggested. "What then? Since he's coming to speak with the Duchess of Eva, why don't we let the duchess deal with him?"

"What have you got in mind?" Wolf asked.

"If the rest of you stay out of sight, I should be able to put him off until the morning," Aunt Pearl said. "We'll be across the river into Flaxia before he comes back."

"Perhaps," Wolf admitted. "But this captain sounds like a determined man."

"I've dealt with determined men before."

"We'll have to decide quickly," V said from the door. "He's on the stairs right now."

"We'll try it your way, Pearl," Wolf said, opening the door to the adjacent room.

"No, not you Steven, you stay here, with me."

"What do you want  _me_  to do, Aunt Pearl?" Steven whispered.

"You don't  _have_ to do anything, dear," she whispered back. "Just remember that you're my page. So stand near my chair and try to look attentive. I'll take care of the rest."

"Yes, my Lady," Steven said.

 

The captain, when he arrived behind the innkeeper's knock, proved to be a tall, sober-looking man with penetrating grey eyes. Steven, trying his best to sound officious, requested the soldier's name and then turned to Aunt Pearl.

"There's a Captain Brando here to see you, your Grace," he announced. "He says it's a matter of importance."

Aunt Pearl looked at him for a moment, as if considering his request. "Oh, very well," she said finally. "Show him in."

Captain Brando stepped into the room, and the innkeeper hastily departed.

"Your Grace," the captain said, bowing deferentially.

"What is it, Captain?" she demanded.

"I would not trouble Your Grace if my mission were not of such urgency," Brando apologised. "My orders are directly from the king himself, and you of all people will know that we must defer to his wishes."

"I suppose I  _can_ spare a few moments for the king's business," she conceded.

"There's a certain man the king wishes to have apprehended," Brando said. "An elderly man with white hair and a beard. I'm informed that you have such a one amongst your servants."

"Is the man a criminal?" she asked.

"He didn't say so, your Grace," he told her honestly. "I was only told that the man was to be seized and delivered to the palace at Delmar-- and all who are with him as well."

"I am seldom at court," Aunt Pearl said. "It's most unlikely that any of my servants would be of such interest to the king."

"Your Grace," Brando said delicately, "in addition to my duties in one of the king's own regiments, I also have the honour of holding a baronetcy, I've been at court  _all my life_  and I must confess that I've never seen you there. A lady of your striking appearance would not be soon forgotten."

Aunt Pearl inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of the flattering, if somewhat ambiguously motivated compliment. 

"I suppose I should have guessed, my Lord Brando," she said. "Your manners are not those of a common soldier."

"Moreover, your Grace," he continued. "I'm familiar with  _all_ the holdings of the kingdom. If I'm not mistaken, the district of Eva is an earldom, and the Earl of Eva is a stout, short man, my great uncle, as it so happens. There has been no duchy in that part of Delmarvia since the kingdom was under the dominion of the Gelarite Flaxen."

Aunt Pearl fixed him with an icy stare.

"My Lady," Brando said almost apologetically, "the Gelarite Flaxen were exterminated by their Tusconian cousins in the last years of the third millenium. There has been no Gelarite nobility for over two thousand years."

"I thank you for the history lesson, my Lord," Aunt Pearl replied coldly.

"All of that, however, is hardly the issue, is it?" Brando continued. "I am bidden by my king to seek out the man of whom I spoke. Upon  _your_ honour, Lady, knowest you of such a man?" he reiterated firmly.

The question hung in the air between them like a miasma, and Steven, knowing in sudden panic that they were caught, almost shouted for Amethyst.

Then the door to the next chamber opened, and Mister Wolf stepped into the room.

"There's no need to continue with this," he said, again assuming that proud posture Steven had seen only once before. "I'm the one you're looking for. What does Dewey of Delmarvia want with me?"

Brando looked at him without so much as a hint of surprise.

"His Majesty did not see fit to take me into his confidence," he said. "That can only mean that this matter is of the utmost importance. He will explain it himself, I have no doubt, once we reach the palace at Delmar."

"The sooner the better then," Wolf said. "When do we leave?"

"We depart for Delmar directly after breakfast in the morning," Brando said. "I will accept your word that none of you will attempt to leave this inn during the night. I'd very much prefer not to subject the Duchess of Eva to the indignity of confinement at the local barracks. The cells there are most uncomfortable, I'm told."

"You have my word," Wolf promised.

"Thank you," Brando said, bowing slightly. "I must also advise you that I am obliged to post guards about this inn-- for your protection of course."

"Your solicitude is most flattering, my Lord," Aunt Pearl replied dryly.

"Your servant, my Lady," Brando said with a formal bow. Then he turned and left the room.

The polished door was only made of wood; Steven knew, but as it closed behind the departing Brando, it seemed to have that dreadful, final clang of the door to a dungeon cell.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey Vanilla, when we said we wanted new characters, we didn't mean Bill Dewey."
> 
> I know, and I'm sorry for that, but let's be honest, if a powerful sorcerer and sorceress were going to be the main characters in this story, they'd both HAVE to be called upon by royalty at SOME point. Plus, William Dewey was already the mayor of Delmarva in the show so....
> 
> I'm sorry alright JUST ROLL WITH IT PLS.
> 
> Also awwww, poor Steven, thinking that they've done something wrong. Don't worry, they haven't.... or have they?


	22. A Royal Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven learns that in a world where everyone has to keep up facades, even the people he thought he knew aren't exempt from this rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT TO NOTE :  
> It's important that you pay attention to some of the historical terms I'm throwing around because they're pretty heavy foreshadowing to the people I'm going to include next.

**THEY WERE NINE DAYS**  on the coastal road from Canaar to the capital at Delmar, though it was only fifty leagues. Captain Brando measured their pace carefully, and his detachment of soldiers was arranged in such fashion that even the thought of escape was impossible. Although it had stopped snowing, the road was no less difficult to traverse, and the salty sea wind blasting the coast across the broad, snow-covered salt marshes was raw and chill. 

They stayed each night in the evenly spaced Delmarvian hostels which stood like mileposts along that uninhabited stretch of coast. The hostels were not quite so well furnished as were their Shwarean counterparts along the Great Northern Road, but they were at least adequate. Captain Brando seemed solicitous about their comfort, but he also posted guards each night.

On the evening of the second day, Steven sat near the fire with Bismuth, staring moodily into the flames. Technically speaking, Bismuth was his oldest friend, and Steven felt a desperate need for friendship just then.

"Bismuth?" he said finally.

"Yes, lad?"

"Have you ever been in a dungeon?"

"What could I have possibly done to be put in a dungeon?"

"I thought that you might have seen one sometime."

"Honest people don't go near such places," Bismuth said.

"I've heard they're awful. Dark and cold and full of rats."

"Steven, what's all this talk of dungeons?" Bismuth asked gently.

"I'm afraid we may find out all about places like that very soon," Steven said, trying not to sound too frightened.

"We've done  _ **nothing**  _wrong," Bismuth said.

"Then why would the king have us seized like this? Kings don't do things like that without good reason."

"We haven't done  _ **anything**  _wrong, Steven," Bismuth assured him.

"But maybe Mister Wolf has," Steven suggested. "The king wouldn't send all these soldiers after him without some reason-- and we could all be thrown in a dungeon with him just because we're his companions."

"Things like that don't happen in Delmarvia," Bismuth said firmly.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, the wind blew very strong off the sea, but it was a warm wind, and the foot-deep snow on the road began to turn slushy. By midday, it had started to rain. They rode in sodden misery toward the next hostel.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to delay our journey until this blows out," the captain announced, looking out of one of the tiny hostel windows. "The road's going to be quite impassable by morning."

And so they spent the next day, and the one after that, sitting in the cramped main room of the hostel listening to the wind-driven rain slashing at the walls and roof, all the while under the watchful eyes of Brando and his soldiers.

"V," Steven said on the second day, moving over to the bench where the ferret-like lady sat dozing.

"What kind of man is the king?"

"Which king?" V asked.

"Of Delmarvia."

"A foolish man-- like all kings," V laughed. "The Delmarvian kings are perhaps a bit more foolish, but that's only natural. Why do you ask?"

"Well-- " Steven hesitated. "Let's suppose somebody did something that the king didn't like, and there were some people traveling with him, and the king had these people seized. Would the king just throw them all into the dungeon, or would he just let the others go and just keep the one who angered him?"

V looked at him for a long moment, and when next she spoke, her voice was firm, and laden with disappointment.

"Steven," she began. "I expected better from you than a question like that."

Steven flushed. "I'm afraid of dungeons," he said in a small voice, suddenly very ashamed of himself. "I don't want to be locked up forever when I don't even know what for."

"The kings of Delmarvia are just and honest men," V told him. "Not too bright, I'm afraid, at least, not  ** _this one_** , but always fair."

"How can they be kings if they aren't wise?" Steven objected.

"Wisdom's a useful trait in a king, but hardly essential."

"How do they get to be kings then?" Steven demanded.

"Some are born into it," V lectured. "The stupidest man in the world can be a king if he has the right parents. Delmarvian kings have a disadvantage because they start so low."

"Low?"

"They were elected. Nobody ever elected a king before, only the Delmarvians."

"How do you elect a king?"

V smiled wistfully. "Very badly, Steven. It's a poor way to select a king. The other ways are worse, but election is a very bad way to choose a king."

"Tell me how it's done," Steven asked, enraptured.

V glanced briefly at the rain-spattered window across the room and shrugged. 

"I guess it's a way to pass the time," she mused. Then she leaned back, stretched her feet toward the fire and spoke--

 

"It all started about fifteen hundred years ago," she intoned, her voice loud enough to reach the ears of Captain Brando, who sat nearby writing on a piece of parchment.

"Delmarvia wasn't a kingdom then, or even a separate country. It belonged from time to time to Wy-Atia, Aine or the northern Flaxen-- Gelarian or Tusconian, depending on the fortunes of the Flaxen civil war. When that war finally came to an end and the Gelarians were destroyed and the Tusconians had been defeated and driven into the untracked reaches of the Great Forest of northern Flaxia, the Emperor of Shwar, Maharaja Tjinder II, decided that there ought to be a kingdom here."

"How could a Shwarean emperor make that kind of decision for Delmarvia?" Steven asked.

"The arm of the Empire is very long, Steven," V said. "The Great Northern Road had been built during the Second Maheshwaran Dynasty-- I think it was Maharaja Maheshwaran IV who started the construction, wasn't it, Captain?" she called out.

"The fifth," Brando said somewhat sourly without looking up. "Raja Maheshwaran V."

"Thank you, Captain," V said. "I can never keep those Maheshwaran Dynasties straight. Anyway, there were already imperial legions in Delmarvia to maintain the highway, if nothing else, and if one has troops in a certain area, one has a certain authority as well, wouldn't you say, Captain?"

"It's your story," Brando said curtly.

"Indeed it is," V agreed. "Now, it wasn't really out of any kind of generosity than Raja Tjinder made his decision, Steven. Don't misunderstand that. Shwareans  ** _never_**  give anything away. It was just that the Gelarian Flaxen had finally won the Flaxen civil war-- a thousand years of bloodshed and treachery-- and Shwar couldn't afford to allow the Gelarians to expand into the north. The creation of an independent kingdom in the form of Delmarvia would block Gelarian access to the trade routes down out of Q'zarnia and prevent the seat of world power from moving to I'chir Gelar and leaving the Imperial capital of Tol Harith in a kind of backwater."

"It all sounds so terribly complicated," Steven said.

"Not really," V said. "It's only politics, and that's a very simple game, isn't it, Captain?"

"A game I do not play," Brando said, not looking up.

"Really?" V asked skeptically. "So long at court and not a politician? What a rare man you are, Captain. At any rate, the Delmarvs suddenly discovered that they had themselves a kingdom but no genuine hereditary nobility. Oh, there were a few retired Shwarean nobles living on estates, here and there, assorted pretenders to this or that Gelarian or Tuscony title, a Wy-Atian war chief with a few followers, but no genuine Delmarvian nobility. So it was decided that they would hold a national election-- select a king, you see, and then leave the bestowing of titles up to him. A very practical approach, and so very typically Delmarvian."

"How do you elect a king?" Steven asked, his fear of dungeons fading away and growing more and more interested with the story.

"Everybody votes," V said simply. "Parents probably cast the votes for their children, but it appears there was very little cheating. The rest of the world stood by and laughed at this foolishness, but the Delmarvs continued to cast ballot after ballot for a dozen years."

"Six years, actually," Brando said, with his face still down over the parchment. "5827-5833"

"And there were over 1000 candidates," V said expansively.

"Seven hundred and forty-five," Brando said tightly.

"Right, thank you, noble Captain," V said. "It's an enormous comfort to have such an expert here to catch my errors. I'm but a simple Q'zarnian merchant with little background in history. Anyway, on the twenty-third ballot, they finally elected their king, a cabbage farmer named William Dewey."

"He raised more than just  ** _cabbages_ ,**" Brando said, finally looking up angrily.

"Oh, but of course he did!" V said, smacking her forehead with an open palm. "He raised turnips and-- this is my favourite -- _ **ONIONS** too!_  Never forget the onions, Steven. Everybody in Delmarvia who journeyed to William's Farm found him vigorously fertilising his fields, and they greeted him with a great cry, 'Hail, William the Magnificient, King of Delmarvia!' and they fell upon their knees in his august presence."

"Must we continue with this?" Brando pleaded in a pained voice, looking up.

"The boy wants to know, Captain," V replied with an innocent face. "It's our duty as his elders to instruct him in the history of our past, wouldn't you say?"

"Say whatever you like," Brando said stiffly.

"Thank you for your permission, Captain," V said, inclining her head. "Do you know what the King of Delmarvia then said, Steven?" she asked.

"No," Steven said. "What?"

"'I pray you, your eminences,' the King said, 'have a care for your finery, I have just well manured the bed in which you are kneeling,'"

Amethyst, who was sitting nearby, roared with laughter, pounding her knee with one huge hand.

"I find this less than amusing, madam," Captain Brando said coldly, rising to his feet. "I make no jokes about the Queen of Q'zarnia, now do I?"

"Because you're a courteous man, Captain," V wheedled, with the most innocent and honest expression she could muster. "and a nobleman, I'm merely a poor woman trying to make her way in the world."

Brando looked at her helplessly and then turned and stamped from the room.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, the wind had blown itself out and the rain had stopped. The road was, as Brando had predicted, very nearly a quagmire, but he decided that they must continue. Travel that day was difficult, but the next was somewhat easier as the road began to drain.

Aunt Pearl seemed nonchalant about the fact that they had been seized on the king's orders. She maintained her regal bearing even though Steven saw no real need to continue the subterfuge and wished fervently that she would abandon it. The familiar, practical sensibility with which she had carried herself at Alger's Farm had somehow been replaced by a demanding wilfulness that Steven found most distressing.

For the first time in his life, Steven felt a distance between them, a vacancy that had never been there before. To make matters worse, the gnawing uncertainty which had been steadily growing since V's unequivocal declaration on the hilltop outside Winar that Aunt Pearl could not possibly be his real aunt sawed roughly at his own sense of identity, and Steven often found himself staring at the awful question ' _Who am I?_ '

Mister Wolf seemed changed as well. He seldom spoke on either the road or at night in the hostels. He spent a great deal of time sitting by himself with an expression of moody irritability on his face.

 

Finally, after the ninth day of their departure from Canaar, the broad salt marshes ended, and the land along the coast became more rolling. They topped a hill about midday just as the pale winter sun broke through the clouds, and there in the valley below them, the walled city of Delmar lay, facing the sea.

The detachment of guards at the South Gate of the city saluted smartly as Captain Brando led the contingent through, and he returned their salute crisply. The broad streets of the city seemed filled with people in the finest clothing, all moving about importantly as if their errands were the most vital in all the world.

"Courtiers," snorted Amethyst, who happened to be riding alongside Steven, with contempt. "Not a real man amongst them."

"A necessary evil, dear Amy," V said back over her shoulder to the her hulking friend. "Little jobs require little men, and it's the little jobs that keep a kingdom running."

After they had passed through a magnificiently large square, they moved up a wide avenue to the palace. It was a very large building with many stories and broad wings extending out on each side of the paved courtyard. The entire structure was surmounted by a round tower that was easily the highest ediface in the whole city.

"Where do you suppose the dungeons are?" Steven whispered to Bismuth.

"I would very much prefer," Bismuth said with a pained look, "if you would not speak so much of dungeons."

Captain Brando dismounted and went to meet a fussy-looking man in an embroidered tunic and feathered cap who came down the wide steps at the front of the palace to meet them. They spoke for a few moments and seemed to be arguing.

"My orders are from the king himself," Brando said, his voice carrying to where they sat. "I am commanded to deliver these people directly to him immediately upon our arrival."

"My orders are also from the king," the fussy-looking man said, "and  _I_ am commanded to have them made presentable before they are delivered to the throne room. I will take charge of them."

"They will remain in  _my_ custody, Count Norman, until they have been delivered to the king himself," Brando said coldly.

"I will not have your muddy soldiers tracking through the halls of the palace, Lord Brando," the Count replied.

"Then we will wait here, Count Norman," Brando said. "Be so good as to fetch his Majesty."

"Fetch?" The Count's face was aghast. "I am Chief butler to his Majesty's household, Lord Brando. I do  _not_ fetch anything or anybody."

Brando turned as if to remount his horse.

"Oh, very well," Count Norman said petulantly, "if you must have it your way, at least have them wipe their feet."

Brando bowed coldly.

"I won't forget this, Lord Brando," Norman threatened.

"Nor shall I, Count Norman," Brando replied.

Then they all dismounted, with Brando's soldiers drawn up in close order around them, and they crossed the courtyard to a broad door near the centre of the west wing.

"Be so good as to follow me," Count Norman said, glancing with a shudder at the mud-spattered soldiers, and he led them into the wide corridor which lay beyond the door.

Apprehension and curiosity struggled in Steven's mind. Despite the assurances of V and Bismuth and the hopeful implications of Count Norman's announcement that he was going to have them made presentable, the threat of some clammy, rat-infested dungeon, complete with a rack and a wheel and other unpleasant things, still seemed very real.

On the other hand, he had never been in a palace before, and his eyes tried to be everywhere at once. That part of his mind which sometimes spoke to him in dry detachment told him that his fears were probably groundless and that his gawking made him appear like a doltish country bumpkin.

Count Norman lef them directly to a part of the corridor where there were a number of highly polished doors.

"This one is for the boy," he announced, pointing at one of them.

One of the soldiers opened the door, and Steven reluctantly stepped through, looking back over his shoulder at Aunt Pearl, who nodded imperceptibly.

"Come along, now," a somewhat impatient voice said.

Steven whirled, not knowing what to expect.

"Close the door, boy," the fine-looking man who had been waiting for him said. "We don't have all day you know."

The man was waiting beside a large wooden tub with steam rising from it.

"Quickly boy, take off those filthy rags and get into the tub, His Majesty is waiting."

Too confused to object or even to answer, Steven numbly began to unlace his tunic.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After he had been bathed and the knots had been brushed out of his hair, he was dressed in clothes which lay on a nearby bench. His coarse woolen hose of serviceable peasant brown were exchanged for ones of a much finer weave in lustrous magenta. His scuffed and muddy boots were traded for soft leather shows. His tunic was soft white linen, and the doublet he wore over it was a rich mauve, trimmed with silvery fur.

"I guess that's the best I can do on short notice," the man who had bathed and dressed him said, looking him up and down critically. "At least I won't be  _completely_  embarassed when you're presented to the king."

Steven mumbled his thanks and then stood, waiting for further instructions.

"Well, go along boy. You mustn't keep his Majesty waiting."

V and Amethyst stood in the corridor, talking quietly. Amethyst was dressed in a splendidly verdant green brocade doublet, but looked uncomfortable without her mail shirt. V's dress was a fiery scarlet, trimmed in gold, with a slit that rode high up her hips, revealing much, but not too much as to be inappropriate. She whirled about to face him, a vision of sensousness as her dress flared with the movement.

"What does all of this mean?" Steven asked, all thoughts of dungeons long gone.

"We're to be presented to the king," Amethyst said, "and it looks like our honest clothes have given offense. Kings aren't accustomed to looking at ordinary men."

Bismuth emerged from one of the rooms, his face pale with anger.

"That overdressed fool wanted to give me a bath!" he said in choked outrage.

"It's the custom," V explained. "Noble guests aren't expected to bathe themselves. I hope you didn't hurt him." V finished, a look of concern on her face.

"I'm not a noble, and I'm quite able to bathe  ** _myself_ ,**" Bismuth said hotly. "I'd told him I'd drown him in his own tub if he didn't keep his hands to himself. After that, he didn't pester me anymore, but he did steal my clothes, and I had to put these on instead." He gestured to his clothes which were quite similar to Steven's. "I hope nobody sees me in all this frippery."

"Amethyst said the king might be offended if he saw us in our real clothes," Steven told him.

"The king won't even be looking at us," Bismuth said, "and I don't like this business of trying to look like something I'm not. I'll wait outside with the horses if I can get my own clothes back."

"Calm down, B," Amethyst advised. "We'll work all this out and then we can be on our way again!"

Bismuth straightened with a huff. He wanted to continue, but just then Wolf barged out of his room. If Bismuth was angry, Mister Wolf was in what could be described as a towering fury. He came out into the corridor dressed in a snowy white robe, deeply cowled at the back.

"Someone's going to  _ **pay**  _for this," he raged.

"I don't know, white's always been your colour, old man." V said admiringly.

"Your taste has always been questionable, Mistress V," Wolf shot back in a frosty tone. "Where's Pearl?"

"The lady has not yet made her appearance."

"I should have known," Wolf said, sitting down on a nearby bench. "We may as well get comfortable, perhaps even settle in for the night. Pearl's preparations usually take quite a while."

And so they waited. Captain Brando, who had changed his boots and doublet, paced up and down as the minutes dragged by. Steven was totally baffled by their reception. They did not seem to be under arrest, but his imagination still suffered brief flashes of dingy dungeons, and that was enough to make him rather jumpy.

And then, Aunt Pearl appeared. She wore the peach velvet gown that had been made for her in Canaar and a silver circlet with the largest inlaid pearl gemstone he had ever seen right smack in the centre of her upper forehead. It was the kind of gaudy trinket that would look excessive, even ridiculous on other noblewomen, but on Aunt Pearl's forehead it seemed almost a natural part of her form. Her bearing was regal as always, and her face ever stern.

"So soon, Mistress Pearl?" Wolf asked dryly. "I hope you weren't rushed."

She ignored that and examined each of them in turn.

"Adequate, I suppose," she said finally, absently kneeling to adjust the collar of Steven's doublet. "Give me your arm, Old Wolf, and let's find out what the King of Delmarvia wants with us."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mister Wolf rose from his bench, extended his arm, and the two of them started down the corridor. Captain Brando hastily assembled his soldiers and followed them all in some kind of ragged order.

"If you please, my Lady," he called out to Aunt Pearl, "permit me to show you the way."

"We know the way, Lord Brando," she replied without so much as turning her head.

Count Norman, the Chief Butler, stood waiting for them in front of two massive doors guarded by uniformed men-at-arms. They looked proud and tall as their little entourage came into view, but trembled visibly at the sight of Amethyst. At the snap of Norman's fingers, they swung the heavy doors inward.

Dewey, the King of Delmarvia, was a dumpy-looking man with a short, trimmed brown beard. He sat, rather uncomfortably it appeared, on a high-backed throne which stood on a dais at one end of the great hall into which Count Norman led them. 

The throne room was vast with a high, vaulted ceiling and walls covered with what seemed like acres of heavy, red velvet drapery. There were candles everywhere, and dozens of people strolled about in fine clothes and chatted idly in the corners, all ignoring the presence of the king.

"May I announce you?" Count Norman asked Mister Wolf.

"Dewey knows who I am," Wolf replied shortly and strode down toward the throne with Aunt Pearl still on his arm. Steven and the others followed, with Brando and his soldiers close behind, through the suddenly hushed crowd of courtiers and ladies.

At the foot of the throne, they all stopped, and Wolf bowed rather coldly. Aunt Pearl, her teal eyes frosted over, curtsied, and Amethyst and V bowed in a courtly manner. Bismuth and Steven followed suit, though not nearly as gracefully.

"If it pleases your Majesty," Brando's voice came from behind them, "these are the ones you sought."

"I knew you could be depended upon, Lord Brando," the king said in a rather ordinary-sounding voice. "Your reputation is well deserved. You have my thanks, good man."

Then he looked at Mister Wolf and the rest of them, his expression indecipherable.

Steven began to tremble.

"My dear old friend," the king began to Mister Wolf. "It's been too many years since last we me--"

" _ **HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND ENTIRELY, BILL?"**  _Mister Wolf snapped in a voice which carried no further than the king's ears. "Why do you choose to interfere with me--  ** _NOW,_** of all times? And what  ** _possessed_** you to outfit me in this absurd  ** _thing?_ "** He plucked at the front of his white robe in disgust. "Are you trying to announce my presence to  _ **every Isyaki**  _from here to the hook of Flax?"

The king's face looked pained. "I was afraid you would take it this way," he said in a voice no louder than Wolf's had been. "I'll--uh, explain properly once we're in private."

He quickly turned to Aunt Pearl as if trying to preserve the scraps of his tattered dignity.

"It's been much too long since we have seen you, dear Lady. Darla and the children have missed you, and I have been so desolate in your absence."

"Your Majesty is too kind," Aunt Pearl said in a tone as cold as Wolf's.

The king winced. "Pray, dear Lady," he apologised. "Don't judge me too hastily. My reasons were urgent. I hope that Lord Brando's summons did not too greatly inconvenience you."

"Oh. Lord... Brando. Has been the absolute  ** _soul_  **of courtesy," Aunt Pearl said, her tone deliberately slow and low. She glanced once at Brando, who had turned visibly pale.

"And you, my Lord Amethyst," the king hurried on as if trying to make the best of a bad situation, "how fares your cousin, our dear brother king, Thur-Man of Wy-Atia?"

Steven turned his head sharply at the mention of the honorific.  _A cousin to a king?_

"He was well when last I saw him, your Majesty," Amethyst replied formally. "A bit drunk, but that's not unusual for Thur-Man."

The king chuckled a bit nervously and turned quickly to V.

"Princess Vidalia of the Royal House of Q'zarnia," he said, to V's slight discomfort. "We're amazed to find such noble visitors in our realm, and more than a little injured that they chose not to call upon us so that we might greet them. Was the King of Delmarvia of so little note that he's not even worth a brief stop?"

"We intended no disrespect, your Majesty," V replied, bowing, "but our errand was of such urgency that there was no time for the usual courtesies."

The king flickered a warning glance at her at the mention of the errand and, much to Steven's surprise, wove his fingers in the scarcely perceptible gestures of the Q'zarnian secret language.

_Not here. Too many ears about._

He then looked inquiringly at Bismuth and Steven.

Aunt Pearl stepped forward then. "This is Goodman Bismuth of the District of Eva, your Majesty," she said. "A brave and honest man."

Bismuth's cheeks blushed slightly at her compliment.

"Welcome, Goodman Bismuth," the king said. "I can only hope that men may also one day call  _me_  a brave and honest man," he said, chuckling.

Bismuth bowed awkwardly, his face filled with bewilderment.

"I'm just a simple blacksmith, your Honour," he said, "but I hope all men know that I am your Honour's most loyal and devoted subject."

"Well-spoken, Goodman Bismuth," said the king with a smile and a clap on his back. Then he looked at Steven.

Aunt Pearl followed his gaze. 

"A boy, your Majesty," she said rather indifferently. "Steven by name. He was placed in my care some years ago and he accompanies us because I didn't know what else to do with him."

 

A terrible coldness struck at the pit of Steven's stomach. The certainty that her casual words were in fact the bald truth came crashing down upon him. She had not even tried to soften the blow. The indifference with which she had destroyed his life hurt almost more than the destruction itself.

"Also welcome, Steven," he heard the king say from somewhere far outside his broken thoughts. "You travel in noble company for one so young."

"I didn't know who they were, your Majesty," Steven said miserably. "Nobody tells me anything."

The king laughed in tolerant amusement. Then he spoke with seriousness.

"As you grow older, Steven," he said, "you'll probably find that during days such as these, innocence is the most comfortable state in which to live. I've been told things of late that I'd much prefer not to know."

"May we speak  _privately_  now, Dewey?" Mister Wolf said, his voice still irritated.

"In good time, my old friend," the king replied. "I've ordered a banquet be held in your honour. Let's all go in and dine. Darla and the children are waiting for us. There will be time later to discuss certain matters."

And with that, he rose and stepped down from the dais.

Steven, wallowing in his private misery, fell in step beside V.

"Princess Vidalia?" he said, desperately needing some form of distraction to take his mind off the shocking reality that had just fallen upon him.

"An accident of birth, Steven," Vidalia said with a slight wince. "Something over which I had no control. Fortunately, I'm the only niece of the King of Q'zarnia and far down the line of succession. I'm not in any immediate danger of ascending the throne."

"And Amethyst is--?"

"The cousin of King Thur-Man of Wy-Atia," Vidalia explained. She looked over her shoulder. "What is your exact rank, Amy?" she asked.

"The Earl of Crenellan," Amethyst rumbled. "Why do you ask?"

"Steve-o here was curious," V said.

"It's all nonsense anyway," Amethyst said, "but when Thur-Man became king, someone had to become Clan-chief. In Wy-Ate, you can't be both. It's considered unlucky-- especially by the chiefs of the other clans."

"I can see why they might feel that way," V laughed.

"It's a stupid title anyway," Amethyst observed. "There hasn't been a clan feud in Wy-Ate for over three thousand years. I let my youngest sister Carnelia act in my place, and as far as anyone is concerned, I was never there."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Steven demanded accusingly. "About your titles, I mean."

"What difference would it have made, Steven?" asked Vidalia gently. "All it would have done is to make it harder to approach us, to befriend us."

"Well-- I guess that's true," Steven admitted. "But--" He stopped, unable to put his feelings about the matter into words.

"I don't understand  _ **any**  _of this," he concluded miserably.

"It will all become clear in time," V assured him as they entered the banquet hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I bet you didn't expect that eh?
> 
> Old Steve-o's been in wayyyy out of his league this entire time. But don't worry, this changes nothing for Steven, except, maybe in trying to disguise Steven's true identity, Pearl may have accidentally shattered his heart.


	23. An Uncertain Lineage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some long suspected truths are finally revealed, as everyone's identities are laid bare for Steven to see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is a primer to the Second Part of Volume I, Wy-Atia.
> 
> Now we leave Delmarvia for good, and we take our business upstate to Wy-Atia.
> 
> I recognise that the story's going a bit slow for you guys, but bear with me.

The hall was almost as large as the throne room. There were long tables covered with fine linen cloth and once again candles everywhere. A servant stood behind each chair, and everything was supervised by a plump little woman with a beaming face and a tiny crown perched precariously atop her head. As they all entered, she came forward quickly.

"Dear Pearl," she said, "you look just  ** _wonderful_**." She embraced Aunt Pearl warmly, and the two began talking together animatedly.

"Queen Darla," Vidalia explained briefly to Steven. "They call her the Mother of Delmarvia. The four children over there are hers. She has four or five others - older and probably away on state business, since Dewey insists that his children earn their keep. It's a running gag among the other kings that Queen Darla's been pregnant since she was fourteen, but that's probably because they're expected to send royal gifts at each new birth. She's a good woman, though, and she keeps King Dewey from making too many mistakes."

"She knows Aunt Pearl," Steven said, and that fact disturbed him for some reason.

"Everybody knows your Aunt Pearl," V told him.

Since Aunt Pearl and the queen were deep in conversation and already drifting toward the head of the table, Steven stayed close to V.

" _Don't let me make any mistakes_ ," he gestured, trying to keep the movements of his fingers inconspicuous.

Vidalia winked in reply.

Once they were all seated and the food began to arrive, Steven began to relax. He found that all he had to do was follow V's lead, and the intricate niceties of formal dining no longer intimidated him. The talk around him was dignified and quite incomprehensible, but he reasoned that no one was likely to pay much attention to him and that he was probably safe if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on his plate.

An elderly nobleman with a beautifully curled silvery beard, however, leaned toward him.

"You have traveled recently, I'm told," he said in a somewhat condescending tone. "How fares the kingdom, young man?"

Steven looked helplessly across the table at V.

" _What do I say?_ " he gestured with his fingers.

"Tell him that the kingdom fares no better nor no worse than might be anticipated under the present circumstances," she whispered back.

Steven dutifully repeated that.

"Ah," the old nobleman said, "much as I had expected. You're a very observant boy for one so young. I enjoy talking with young people. Their views are so fresh."

" _Who is he?_ " Steven gestured.

"The Earl of Selyse," V replied. "He's a tiresome old bore, but be polite to him. Address him as my Lord."

"And how did you find the roads?" the earl inquired.

"Somewhat in disrepair, my Lord," Steven replied with Vidalia's prompting. "But that's normal for this time of year, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," the earl said approvingly. "What a splendid boy you are."

The strange three-way conversation continued, and Steven even began to enjoy himself as the comments fed to him by V seemed to amaze the old gentleman, though he was more than a little amazed that Vidalia was quite essentially talking to two people at once.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At last the banquet was over, and the king rose from his seat at the head of the table. 

"And now, dear friends," he announced, "Queen Darla and I would like to visit privately with our noble guests, and so we pray you will excuse us." 

He offered his arm to Aunt Pearl, Mister Wolf offered his to the plump little queen, and the four of them walked toward the far door of the hall.

The Earl of Selyse smiled broadly at Steven and then looked across the table. 

"I've enjoyed our conversation, Princess Vidalia," he said to V. "I may indeed be a tiresome old bore as you say, but that can sometimes be an advantage, don't you think?"

Vidalia paused, then giggled innocently. "I should have known that an old fox like you would be an adept at the secret language, my Lord."

"A legacy from a misspent youth." The earl laughed. "Your pupil is most proficient, Princess Vidalia, but his accent is strange."

"The weather was cold while he was learning, my Lord," V said, "and our fingers were a bit stiff. I'll correct the problem when we have leisure."

The old nobleman seemed enormously pleased with himself at having outsmarted V. 

"Splendid boy," he said, patting Steven's shoulder, and then he went off chuckling to himself.

"You knew he understood all along," Steven accused Vidalia.

"Of course," she said, unperturbed. "Q'zarnian intelligence knows every adept at our secret speech. Sometimes it's useful to permit certain carefully selected messages to be intercepted. Don't ever underestimate the Earl of Selyse, however. It's not impossible that he's at least as clever as I am, but look how much he enjoyed catching us."

"Can't you ever do anything without being sly?" Steven asked. His tone was a bit grumpy, since he was convinced that somehow he had been the butt of the whole joke.

"Not unless I absolutely have to, my dear Steven." V laughed. "People such as I continually practice deception--even when it's not necessary. Our lives sometimes depend on how cunning we are, and so we need to keep our wits sharp."

"It must be a lonely way to live," Steven observed rather shrewdly at the silent prompting of his inner voice. "You never really trust anyone, do you?"

"I suppose not," V sighed. "It's a game we play, Steven. We're all very skilled at it - at least we are if we intend to live very long. We all know each other, since we're members of a very small profession. The rewards are great, but after a while we play our game only for the joy of defeating each other. You're right, though. It is lonely, and sometimes disgusting - but most of the time it's a great deal of fun."

Count Norman came up to them and bowed politely. "His Majesty asks that you and the boy join him and your other friends in his private apartments, Princess Vidalia," he said. "If you'll be so good as to follow me."

"Of course," V said. "Come along, Steven."

The king's private apartments were much simpler than the ornate halls in the main palace. King Dewey had removed his crown and state robes and now looked much like any other Delmarv in rather ordinary clothes. He stood talking quietly with Amethyst. Queen Darla and Aunt Pearl were seated on a couch deep in conversation, and Bismuth was not far away, trying his best to look inconspicuous. Mister Wolf stood alone near a window, his face like a thundercloud.

"Ah, Princess Vidalia," the king said. "We thought perhaps you and Steven had been waylaid."

"We were fencing with the Earl of Selyse, your Majesty," V said lightly. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Be careful of him," the king cautioned. "It's quite possible that he's too shrewd even for one of your talents."

"I have a great deal of respect for the old scoundrel." V laughed.

King Dewey glanced apprehensively at Mister Wolf, then squared his shoulders and sighed. 

"I suppose we'd better get this unpleasantness over with," he said. "Darla, would you entertain our other guests while I give our grim-faced old friend there and the Lady the opportunity to scold me. It's obvious that he's not going to be happy until they've said a few unkind things to me about some matters that weren't really my fault."

"Of course, dear," Queen Darla said. "Try not to be too long and please don't shout. The children have been put to bed and they need their rest."

Aunt Pearl rose from the couch, and she and Mister Wolf, whose expression hadn't changed, followed the king into an adjoining chamber.

"Well, then," Queen Darla said pleasantly; "what shall we talk about?"

"I am instructed, your Highness, to convey the regards of Queen Perla of Q'zarnia to you should the occasion arise," Vidalia said in a courtly manner. "She asks leave of you to broach a correspondence on a matter of some delicacy."

"Why, of course," Queen Darla beamed. "She's a dear child, far too pretty and sweet-natured for that fat old bandit, Vladimar. I hope he hasn't made her unhappy."

"No, your Highness," V said. "Amazing though it may seem, she loves my uncle to distraction, and he, of course, is delirious with joy over so young and beautiful a wife. It's positively sickening the way they dote on each other."

"Some day, Princess Vidalia, you will fall in love," the queen said with a little smirk, "and the twelve kingdoms will stand around and chortle over the fall of so notorious a bachelorette. What is this matter Perla wishes to discuss with me?"

"It's a question of fertility, your Highness," V said with a delicate cough. "She wants to present my uncle with an heir and she needs to seek your advice in the business. The entire world stands in awe of your gifts in that particular area."

Queen Darla blushed prettily and then laughed.

"I'll write to her at once," she promised.

Steven by now had carefully worked his way to the door through which King Dewey had taken Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf. He began a meticulous examination of a tapestry on the wall to conceal the fact that he was trying to hear what was going on behind the closed door. It took him only a moment to begin to pick up familiar voices.

"Exactly what does all this foolishness mean, Billy?" Mister Wolf was saying.

"Please don't judge me too hastily, Ancient One," the King said placatingly. "Some things have happened that you might not be aware of."

"You know that I'm aware of everything that happens," Wolf said.

"Did you know that we are defenseless if the Accursed One awakens? That which held her in check has been stolen from off the throne of the Hroden King."

"As a matter of fact, I was following the trail of the thief when your noble Captain Brando interrupted me in my search."

"I'm sorry," Dewey said, "but you wouldn't have gone much farther anyway. All the Kings of Sangria have been searching for you for three months now. Your likeness, drawn by the finest artists, is in the hands of every ambassador, agent and official of the five kingdoms of the north. Actually, you've been followed since you left Wollock."

"Dewey, I'm busy. Tell the Sangrian Kings to leave me alone. Why are they suddenly so interested in my movements?"

"They want to have council with you," the king said. "The Sangrians are preparing for war, and even my poor Delmarvia is being quietly mobilized. If the Accursed One arises now, we're all doomed. The power that's been stolen can very possibly be used to awaken her, and her first move will be to attack the West - you know that, Gregarion. And you also know that until the return of the Hroden King, the West has no real defense."

Steven blinked and started violently, then tried to cover the sudden movement by bending to look at some of the finer detail on the tapestry. He told himself that he had heard wrong. The name King Dewey had spoken could not have really been Gregarion. Gregarion was a fairy-tale figure, a myth.

"Just tell the Sangrian Kings that I'm in pursuit of the thief," Mister Wolf said. "I don't have time for councils just now. If they'll leave me alone, I should be able to catch up with him before he can do any mischief with the thing he's managed to steal."

"Don't tempt fate, Dewey," Aunt Pearl advised. "Your interference is costing us time we can't afford to lose. Presently I've become quite vexed with you."

The king's voice was firm as he answered. "I know your power, Lady Polina," he said, and Steven jumped again. "I don't have any choice, however," the king continued. "I'm bound by my word to deliver you all up at Van Sangria to the Kings of Sangria, and a king can't break his word to other kings."

There was a long silence in the other room while Steven's mind raced through a dozen possibilities.

"You're not a bad man, Bill," Mister Wolf said. "Not perhaps as bright as I might wish, but a good man nonetheless. I won't raise my hand against you - nor will my daughter."

"Speak for yourself, Old Wolf," Aunt Pearl said grimly.

"No, Polina," he said. "If we have to go to Van Sangria, let's go with all possible speed. The sooner we explain things to the Sangrians, the sooner they'll stop interfering."

"I think age is beginning to soften your brain, Father," Aunt Pearl snapped. "We don't have the time for this excursion to Van Sangria. Dewey can explain to the Sangrian Kings."

"It won't do any good, Lady Polina," the king said rather ruefully. "As your father so pointedly mentioned, I'm not considered very bright. The Sangrian Kings won't listen to me. If you leave now, they'll just send someone like Brando to apprehend you again."

"Then that unfortunate man may suddenly find himself living out the remainder of his days as a frog or possibly an onion," Aunt Pearl said ominously.

"Enough of that, Pearl," Mister Wolf said. "Is there a ship ready, Bill?"

"It lies at the north wharf, Gregarion," the king replied. "A Wy-Ate vessel sent by King Thur-Man."

"Very well," Mister Wolf said. "Then tomorrow we'll go to Wy-Atia. It seems that I'm going to have to point out a few things to some thickheaded Sangrians. Will you be going with us?"

"I'm obliged to," Dewey said. "It's a general council, and Delmarvia's involved."

"You haven't heard the last of this, Dewey," Aunt Pearl said.

"Never mind, Pearl," Mister Wolf said. "He's only doing what he thinks is right. We'll straighten it all out in Van Sangria."

Steven was trembling as he stepped away from the door. It was impossible. His skeptical Delmarvian upbringing made him at first incapable of even considering such an absurdity. Reluctantly, however, he finally forced himself to look the idea full in the face.

What if Mister Wolf really was Gregarion the Sorcerer, a man who had lived for over seven thousand years? And what if Aunt Pearl was really his daughter, Polina the Sorceress, who was only slightly younger? All the bits and pieces, the cryptic hints, the half truths, fell together. Vidalia had been right; she could not be his Aunt. Steven's orphaning was complete now. He was adrift in the world with no ties of blood or heritage to cling to. Desperately he wanted to go home, back to Alger's farm, where he could sink himself in unthinking obscurity in a quiet place where there were no sorcerers or strange searches or anything that would even remind him of Aunt Pearl and the cruel hoax she had made of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Next Chapter marks the end of The Gem Foretold Part I : Delmarvia.
> 
> Don't worry, I'll still be uploading regularly all the way until I finish this Volume, upon which I will deliberate as to when to release Volume II.


	24. Act Two : The Shivering Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fellowship departs to attend a war council of utmost importance, or so they're told. The fastest way to get there, however, is by sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing another side character. She gets a short cameo here, but we'll see more of her later.

**IN THE GRAY FIRST LIGHT**  of early morning they rode through the quiet streets of Delmar to the harbour and their waiting ship. The finery of the evening before had been put aside, and they had all resumed their customary clothes. Even King Dewey and the Earl of Selyse had donned plain garb and now resembled nothing quite so much as two moderately prosperous Delmarvs on a business trip. 

Queen Darla, who was not to go with them, rode beside her husband, talking earnestly to him with an expression on her face that seemed almost to hover on the verge of tears. The party was accompanied by soldiers, cloaked against the raw, chill wind of the sea.

At the foot of the street which led down from the palace to the harbour, the stone wharves of Delmar jutted out into the choppy water, and there, rocking and straining against the hawsers which held her, was their ship. She was a lean vessel, narrow of beam and high-prowed, with a kind of wolfish appearance that did little to quiet Steven's nervousness about his first sea voyage. Lounging about on her deck were a number of savage-looking sailors, bearded and garbed in shaggy garments made of fur. With the exception of Amethyst, these were the first Wy-Atians Steven had ever seen, and his first impression was that they would probably prove to be totally unreliable.

"Amy!" a burly man halfway up the mast shouted and dropped hand over hand down a steeply slanting rope to the deck and then jumped across to the wharf.

"Sugi!" Amethyst roared in response, swung down from her horse and clasped the evil-looking sailor in a bear hug.

"It would seem that Lord Amethyst is acquainted with our captain," the Earl of Selyse observed.

"That's disquieting," Vidalia said wryly. "I was hoping for a sober, sensible captain of middle years and a conservative disposition. I'm not fond of ships and sea travel to begin with."

"I'm told that Captain Sugilite is one of the finest seamen in all of Wy-Ate," the earl assured him.

"My Lord," V said with a pained look, "Wy-Atian definitions can be deceptive." 

Sourly she watched Amethyst and Sugilite toasting their reunion with tankards of ale that had been passed down to them from the ship by a grinning sailor.

Queen Darla had dismounted and she embraced Aunt Pearl. 

"Please watch out for my poor husband, Pearl," she said with a little laugh that quivered a bit. "Don't let those Sangrian bullies goad him into doing anything foolish."

"Of course, Darla," Aunt Pearl said comfortingly.

"Now, Darla," King Dewey said in an embarrassed voice. "I'll be all right. I'm a grown man, after all."

The plump little queen wiped her eyes. "I want you to promise to wear warm clothes," she said, "and not to sit up all night drinking with Thur-man."

"We're on serious business, Darla," the king said. "There won't be time for any of that."

"I know Thurman too well," the queen sniffed. She turned to Mister Wolf, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his bearded cheek. "Dear Gregarion," she said. "When this is over, promise that you and Pearl will come back for a long visit."

"I promise, Darla," Mister Wolf said gently.

"The tide is turning, Lord King," Sugilite said, "and my ship is growing restless."

"Oh dear," the queen said. She put her arms around the king's neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

"Now, now," Dewey said awkwardly.

"If you don't go now, I'm going to cry right here in public," she said, pushing him away.

The stones of the wharf were slippery, and the slim Wy-Atian ship bobbed and rolled in the chop. The narrow plank they had to cross heaved and swayed dangerously, but they all managed to board without accident. The sailors slipped the hawsers and took their places at the oars. The lean vessel leaped away from the wharf and moved swiftly into the harbour past the stout and bulky merchantmen anchored nearby. Queen Darla stood forlornly on the wharf, surrounded by tall soldiers. She waved a few times and then stood watching, her chin lifted bravely.

Captain Sugilite took his place at the tiller with Amethyst by his side and signalled to a squat, muscular warrior crouched nearby. The squat man nodded and pulled a ragged square of sailcloth off a hide-topped drum.

He began a slow beat, and the oarsmen immediately took up the rhythm. The ship surged ahead and made for the open sea.

Once they were beyond the protection of the harbour, the swells grew so ponderous that the ship no longer rocked but ran instead down the back of each wave and up the face of the next. The long oars, dipping to the rhythm of the sullen drum, left little swirls on the surface of the waves. The sea was lead-gray beneath the wintry sky, and the low, snow-covered coastline of Delmarvia slid by on their right, bleak and desolate-looking.

Steven spent most of the day shivering in a sheltered spot near the high prow, moodily staring out at the sea. The shards and shambles into which his life had fallen the night before lay in ruins around him. The idea that Wolf was Gregarion and Aunt Pearl was Polina was of course, an absurdity. 

He was convinced, however, that a part of the whole thing at least was true. She might not be Polina, but she was almost certainly not his Aunt. He avoided looking at her as much as possible, and did not speak to anyone.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They slept that night in cramped quarters beneath the stern deck of the ship. Mister Wolf sat talking for a long time with King Dewey and the Earl of Selyse. Steven covertly watched the old man whose silvery hair and short-cropped beard seemed almost to glow in the light from a swinging oil lamp hanging from one of the low beams. He still looked the same as always, and Steven finally turned over and went to sleep.

The next day they rounded the hook of Delmarvia and beat northeasterly with a good following wind. The sails were raised, and the oarsmen were able to rest. Steven continued to wrestle with his problem.

On the third day out the weather turned stormy and bitterly cold. The rigging crackled with ice, and sleet hissed into the sea around them. "If this doesn't break, it will be a rough passage through the Triangle," Amethyst said, frowning into the sleet.

"The what?" Bismuth asked apprehensively. Bismuth was not at all comfortable on the ship. He was just recovering from a bout of seasickness, and he was obviously a bit edgy.

"The Wy-Atian Triangle," Amethyst explained. "It's a passage about a league wide between the northern tip of Delmarvia and the southern end of the Wy-Ate peninsula - riptides, whirlpools, that sort of thing. Don't be alarmed, B. This is a good ship, and Sugi knows the secret of navigating the Triangle. It may be a bit rough, but we'll be perfectly safe unless we're unlucky, of course."

"That's a cheery thing to say," Vidalia observed dryly from nearby. "I've been trying for three days not to think about the Triangle."

"Is it really that bad?" Bismuth asked in a sinking voice.

"I make a special point of not going through it sober," V told him.

Amethyst laughed. "You ought to be thankful for the Triangle, V," he said. "It keeps the Empire out of the Gulf of Wy-Ate. All Q'zarnia would be a Shwarean province if it wasn't there."

"I admire it politically," V said, "but personally I'd be much happier if I never had to look at it again."

On the following day they anchored near the rocky coast of northern Delmarvia and waited for the tide to turn. In time it slackened and reversed, and the waters of the Shivering Sea mounted and plunged through the Triangle to raise the level of the Gulf of Wy-Ate.

"Find something solid to hold on to, Steven," Amethyst advised as Sugilite ordered the anchor raised. 

"With this kind of wind, the passage could be interesting." She strode along the narrow deck, her teeth gleaming in a broad grin.

It was foolish. Steven knew that, even as he stood up and began to follow the purple-skinned gem toward the prow, but four days of solitary brooding over a problem that refused to yield to any kind of logic made him feel almost belligerently reckless. He set his teeth together and took hold of a rusted iron ring embedded in the prow.

Amethyst laughed and clapped him a stunning blow on the shoulder.

"Alright, Steven!" she cheered approvingly. "We'll stand together and face the Triangle right down the throat."

Steven decided not to answer that.

With wind and tide behind her, Sugilite's ship literally flew through the passage, yawing and shuddering as she was seized by the violent riptides. Icy spray stung their faces, and Steven, half blinded by it, did not see the enormous whirlpool in the center of the Triangle until they were almost upon it. He seemed to hear a vast roar and cleared his eyes just in time to see it yawning in front of him.

"What's that?" he yelled over the noise.

"The Great Maelstrom," Amethyst shouted gleefully. "Hold on."

The Maelstrom was fully as large as the village of Upper Geralt and descended horribly down into a seething, mist-filled pit unimaginably far below. Incredibly, instead of guiding his vessel away from the vortex, Sugilite steered directly at it.

" **WHAT'S HE DOING?** " Steven screamed.

"It's the secret of passing through the Triangle," Amethyst roared, laughing still. "We circle the Maelstrom twice to gain more speed. If we do it right, we'll shoot right out like a rock from a sling before the riptides have a chance to drag us back! That's all assuming this ship doesn't break apart!"

" **IF THE SHIP DOESN'T**   ** _WHAT!?_** " 

"Sometimes a ship is torn apart in the Maelstrom," Amethyst shouted over the deafening waves. "Don't worry, Steve-o! It doesn't happen very often, and Sugi's ship seems stout enough!"

The ship's prow dipped hideously into the outer edges of the Maelstrom and then raced twice around the huge whirlpool with the oarsmen frantically bending their backs to the frenzied beat of the drum. The wind tore at Steven's face, and he clung to his iron ring, keeping his eyes averted from the seething maw gaping below.

And then they broke free and shot like a whistling stone through the churning water beyond the Maelstrom. The wind of their passage howled in the rigging, and Steven felt his lungs choke from the immense force.

Gradually the ship slowed in the swirling eddies, but the speed they had gained from the Maelstrom carried them on to calm water in a partially sheltered cove on the Delmarvian side.

Amethyst was laughing hysterically and mopping spray from her mane. "Well, Steve-o!" she said, "what do you think of the Triangle?"

Steven didn't trust himself to answer and concentrated on trying to pry his numb fingers from the iron ring.

A familiar voice rang out from the stern.

" ** _Steven!_** "

"Now you've gone and got me in trouble," Steven said resentfully, ignoring the fact that standing in the prow had been his own idea. Aunt Pearl spoke scathingly to Amethyst about her irresponsibility and then turned her attention to Steven.

" ** _Well?_** " she said. "I'm waiting. Would you like to explain?"

"It wasn't Amy's fault," Steven said. "It was my own idea." 

There was no point in their both being in trouble, after all.

"I see," she said. "And what was behind that?"

The confusion and doubt which had been troubling him made him reckless. 

"I felt like it," he said, half defiantly. For the first time in his life he felt on the verge of open rebellion.

"You.  ** _what_**?"

"I felt like it," he repeated, his voice rising an octave. "What difference does it make  ** _why_**  I did it? You're going to punish me anyway!"

Aunt Pearl stiffened, and her eyes blazed.

Mister Wolf, who was sitting nearby, chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

"Why don't you let me handle this, Pearl?" the old man suggested.

"I can deal with it," she said.

"But not well, Pearl," he said. "Not well at all. Your temper's too quick, and your tongue's too sharp. He's not a child anymore. He's not a man yet, but he's not a child either. The problem needs to be dealt with in a special way. I'll take care of it." He stood up. "I think I insist, Pearl."

**_"You what!?"_ **

" ** _I insist._** " His eyes hardened.

" ** _Fine_** ," she said in an icy voice, turned, and walked away. 

"Sit down, Steven," the old man said.

"Why's she so mean?" Steven blurted.

"She isn't," Mister Wolf said. "She's angry because you frightened her. Nobody likes to be frightened."

"I'm sorry," Steven mumbled, ashamed of himself.

"Don't apologize to me," Wolf said. "I wasn't frightened." He looked for a moment at Steven, his eyes penetrating. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"They call you Gregarion," Steven said as if that explained it all, "and they call her Polina."

"So?"

"It's just not possible."

"Didn't we have this conversation before? A long time ago?"

"Are you Gregarion?" Steven demanded bluntly.

"Some people call me that. What difference does it make?"

"I'm sorry," Steven said. "I just don't believe it!"

"All right," Wolf shrugged. "You don't have to if you don't want to. What's that got to do with your being impolite to your Aunt?"

"It's just " Steven faltered. "Well-" Desperately he wanted to ask Mister Wolf that ultimate, fatal question, but despite his certainty that there was no kinship between himself and Aunt Pearl, he could not bear the thought of having it finally and irrevocably confirmed.

"You're confused," Wolf said. "Is that it? Nothing seems to be like it ought to be, and you're angry with your Aunt because it seems like it has to be her fault."

"You make it sound awfully childish," Steven said, flushing slightly.

"Isn't it?"

Steven flushed even more.

"It's your own problem, Steven," Mister Wolf said. "Do you really think it's proper to make others unhappy because of it?"

"No," Steven admitted in a scarcely audible voice.

"Your Aunt and I are who we are," Wolf said quietly. "People have made up a lot of nonsense about us, but that doesn't really matter. There are things that have to be done, and we're the ones who have to do them. That's what matters. Don't make things more difficult for your Aunt just because the world isn't exactly to your liking. That's not only childish, it's ill-mannered, and you're a better boy than that. Now, I really think you owe her an apology, don't you?"

"I suppose so," Steven said resignedly.

"I'm glad we had this chance to talk," the old man said, "but I wouldn't wait too long before making up with her. You wouldn't believe how long she can stay angry." He grinned suddenly. "She's been angry with me for as long as I can remember, and that's so long that I don't even like to think about it."

"I'll do it right now," Steven said.

"Good," Wolf approved.

Steven stood up and walked purposefully to where Aunt Pearl stood staring out at the swirling currents of the Wy-Ate Triangle.

"Aunt Pearl," he said.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry. I was wrong."

She turned and looked at him gravely.

"Yes," she said, "you were."

"I won't do it again."

She laughed then, a low, warm laugh, and ran her fingers through his tangled hair. 

"Don't make promises you can't keep, dear," she said, and she embraced him, and everything was all right again.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the fury of the tide through the Wy-Atian Triangle had abated, they sailed north along the snow-muffled east coast of the Wy-Ate peninsula toward the ancient city which was the ancestral home of all Sangrians, Ainur and Q'zarnian as well as Wy-Ate and Hrodenite. 

The wind was chill and the skies threatening, but the remainder of the voyage was uneventful. After three more days their ship entered the harbor at Van Sangria and tied up at one of the ice-shrouded wharves.

Van Sangria was unlike any Delmarvian city. Its walls and buildings were so incredibly ancient that they seemed more like natural rock formations than the construction of human hands. The narrow, crooked streets were clogged with snow, and the mountains behind the city loomed high and white against the dark sky.

Several horse-drawn sleighs awaited them at the wharf with savage looking drivers and shaggy horses stamping impatiently in the packed snow. There were fur robes in the sleighs, and Steven drew one of them about him as he waited patiently for Amethyst to conclude her farewells to Sugilite and the sailors.

"Let's go," Amethyst told the driver as she climbed into the sleigh. "See if you can't catch up with the others."

"If you hadn't talked so long, they wouldn't be so far ahead, Lord Amethyst," the driver said sourly.

"That's fair," Amethyst agreed, shrugging.

The driver grunted, touched his horses with his whip, and the sleigh started up the street where the others had already disappeared. Fur-clad Wy-Atian warriors swaggered up and down the narrow streets, and many of them bellowed greetings to Amethyst as the sleigh passed. At one corner their driver was forced to halt while two burly men, stripped to the waist in the biting cold, wrestled savagely in the snow in the center of the street to the encouraging shouts of a crowd of onlookers.

"A common pastime," Amethyst told Steven. "Winter's a tedious time in Van Sangria."

"Is that the palace ahead?" Steven asked.

Amethyst shook her head. "The temple of Pink," he said. "Some men say that the Lion-God resides there in spirit. I've never seen her myself, though, so I can't say for sure."

Then the wrestlers rolled out of the way, and they continued.

On the steps of the temple an ancient woman wrapped in ragged woolen robes stood with a long staff clutched in one honey hand and her stringy hair wild about her face. "Hail, Lord Amethyst," she called in a cracked voice as they passed. "Thy Doom still awaits thee."

"Stop the sleigh," Amy growled at the driver, and she threw off her fur robe and jumped to the ground. "Marina," she thundered at the old woman. "You've been forbidden to loiter here. If I tell Thur-Man that you've disobeyed him, he'll have the priests of the temple burn you for a witch."

The old woman cackled at him, and Steven noted with a shudder that her eyes were milk-white blankness.

"The fire will not touch old Marina," she laughed shrilly. "That is not the Doom which awaits her."

"Enough of dooms," Amy said. "Get away from the temple."

"Marina sees what she sees," the old woman said. "The mark of thy Doom is still upon thee, great Lord Amethyst. When it comes to thee, thou shalt remember the words of old Marina." 

And then she seemed to look at the sleigh where Steven sat, though her milky eyes were obviously blind. Her expression suddenly changed from malicious glee to one strangely awestruck.

"Hail, Greatest of Lords," she crooned, bowing deeply. "When thou comest into throe inheritance, remember that it was old Marina who first greeted thee."

Amethyst started toward her with a roar, but she scurried away, her staff tapping on the stone steps.

"What did she mean?" Steven asked when Amethyst returned to the sleigh.

"She's a crazy woman," Amethyst replied, her face pale with anger. "She's always lurking around the temple, begging and frightening gullible housewives with her gibberish. If Thurman had any sense, he'd have had her driven out of the city or burned years ago." She climbed back into the sleigh. "Let's go," she growled at the driver.

Steven looked back over his shoulder as they sped away, but the old blind woman was nowhere in sight.


	25. Conflux of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the frozen capital of Van Sangria, the fellowship is cordially invited to hold council with the Sangrian Kings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints at more characters, cameos for now, but you'll know by name alone how important they're going to be to the story.

**THE PALACE OF KING THUR-MAN** Of Wy-Ate was a vast, brooding structure near the center of Van Sangria. Huge wings, many of them crumbled into decay with unpaned windows staring emptily at the open sky through collapsed roofs, stretched out from the main building in all directions. So far as Steven could tell there was no plan to the palace whatsoever. It had, it seemed, merely grown over the three thousand years and more that the kings of Wy-Ate had ruled there.

 

"Why is so much of it empty and broken down like that?" he asked Amethyst as their sleigh whirled into the snow-packed courtyard.

 

"What some kings build, other kings let fall down," Amethyst said shortly. "That's just how it is."

Amethyst's mood had been black since their encounter with the blind woman at the temple.

The others had all dismounted and stood waiting. 

"You've been away from home too long if you can get lost on the way from the harbour to the palace," V said pleasantly.

"We were delayed," Amethyst grunted.

A broad, ironbound door at the top of the wide steps that led up to the palace opened then as if someone behind it had been waiting for them all to arrive.

 

A woman with short, cropped maroon hair and wearing a deep cerulean cloak trimmed with rich fur stepped out onto the portico at the top of the stairs and stood looking down at them. Amethyst, brooding away, suddenly stopped to regard this figure, before a grin found a way to her face and she took off, running towards her.

 

"Amethyst!” squealed the woman in alarm, seconds before she was engulfed by the hulking gem. She reappeared a second later on Amethyst’s shoulders.

 

“Carnelian!” Amethyst roared. “What’re you doing here?”

 

"King Thur-Man said I could go down to meet you" Carnelian said, feigning pretentiousness.  "As is my right and my duty."

 

"Yeah, cause you’ve **_always_ ** followed orders, haven’t you?” Amethyst chuckled. “How’s the family back at Crenellan? They doing okay? Wait, if you’re here, who’s holding the fort?”

 

“Oh, that old bailey?” Carnelian replied. “ We left Skinny to run the place while I was gone. She’s never participated in family politics anyway, so we figured she’d be the best pick for acting earl!”

 

"That’s fair,” Amethyst shrugged.

 

“Who’s this?” Steven asked as the rest of the entourage caught up with them.

 

“This little oversized peach, Steve-o, is my sister Carnelian!” she exclaimed, pointing to her as she waved back politely.

 

“Sister?”

 

“Yeah! We were made in the same kindergarten, you know, before the Diamonds stopped making those. We popped out of our holes at the same time.”

 

“ **_Did not. I_ ** came out first!” Carnelian protested.

 

“You wish, pipsqueak,” Amethyst teased.

 

"I should remind you," came a familiar voice behind them, “That we do have a council to attend.”

 

They turned back to see Aunt Pearl staring coldly back at them.

 

“Yes, of course,” said Carnelian, all sense of decorum returned. “Right this way, lords and ladies.”

 

With that, Carnelian and Amethyst walked through the doors, Steven close behind them.

 

"Curious," the Earl of Selyse murmured, shaking his head as they all went up the stairs to the palace door.

 

"Hardly," V said. "After all, we all have families, do we not?"

 

"I just… never expected rock-people to have--" the earl began.

 

"Gems.” Vidalia said firmly, cutting him off. “They’re called gems, my Lord. We’re not commoners, we do not use such base terms to refer to our contemporaries, much less **_our friends._ ** ”

 

The Earl of Selyse sighed.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

 

A party of mailed warriors joined them and escorted them through a maze of corridors, up broad stairs and down narrow ones, deeper and deeper into the vast pile.

 

"I've always admired Wy-Ate architecture," V said sardonically. "It's so unanticipated."

 

"Expanding the palace gives weak kings something to do," King Dewey observed. "It's not a bad idea, really. In Delmarvia bad kings usually devote their time to street-paving projects, but all of Van Sangria was paved thousands of years ago."

 

V laughed. "It's always been a problem, your Majesty," he said. "How do you keep bad kings out of mischief?"

 

"Princess Vidalia," King Dewey said, "I don't wish your uncle any misfortune, but I think it might be very interesting if the crown of Q’zarnia just happened to fall to you."

 

"Please, your Majesty," V said with feigned shock, "don't even suggest that."

 

"Also a husband," the Earl of Selyse said slyly. "The princess definitely needs a husband."

 

"That's even worse," V said with a shudder.

 

The throne room of King Thur-Man was a vaulted chamber with a great fire pit in the center where whole logs blazed and crackled. Unlike the lushly draped hall of King Dewey, the stone walls here were bare, and torches flared and smoked in iron rings sunk in the stone. The men who lounged near the fire were not the elegant courtiers of Dewey's court, but rather were bearded Wy-Ate warriors, gleaming in chain mail. At one end of the room sat five thrones, each surmounted by a banner. Four of the thrones were occupied, and three regal-looking women stood talking nearby.

 

"Dewey, King of Delmarvia!" one of the warriors who had escorted them boomed, striking the butt of his spear hollowly on the rush-strewn stone floor.

 

"Hail, Dewey," a large, black-bearded man on one of the thrones called, rising to his feet.

 

His long blue robe was wrinkled and spotted, and his hair was shaggy and unkempt. The gold crown he wore was dented in a place or two, and one of its points had been broken off.

 

"Hail, Thur-Man," the King of the Delmarvs replied, bowing slightly.

 

"Thy throne awaits thee, my dear Dewey," the shaggy-haired man said, indicating the banner of Delmarvia behind the one vacant throne. "The Kings of Sangria welcome the wisdom of the King of Delmarvia at this council."

 

Steven found the stilted, archaic form of address strangely impressive.

 

"Which king is which, friend Vidalia?" Bismuth whispered as they approached the thrones.

 

"The fat one in the red robe with the reindeer on his banner is my uncle, Vladimar of Q'zarnia. The lean-faced one in black under the horse banner is Evan of Aine. The big, grim-faced one in gray with no crown who sits beneath the sword banner is Ophidian, the Hroden Warder."

 

"Ophidian?" Steven interrupted, startled as he remembered the stories of the Battle of I'chir Gelar.

 

"All Hroden Warders are named Ophidian," V explained.

 

King Dewey greeted each of the other kings in the formal language that seemed to be customary, and then he took his place beneath the green banner with its golden sheaf of wheat that was the emblem of Delmarvia.

 

"Hail Gregarion, Disciple of The Gray," Thur-Man said, "and hail Lady Polina, honored daughter of immortal Gregarion."

 

"There's little time for all this ceremony, Thur-Man," Mister Wolf said tartly, throwing back his cloak and striding forward. "Why have the Kings of Sangria summoned me?"

"Permit us our little ceremonies, Ancient One," Vladimar, the grossly fat King of Q'zarnia said slyly. "We so seldom have the chance to play king. We won't be much longer at it."

 

Mister Wolf shook his head in disgust.

 

One of the three regal-looking women came forward then. She was a tall, raven-haired beauty in an elaborately cross-tied black velvet gown. She curtsied to King Dewey and touched her cheek briefly to his.

 

"Your Majesty," she said, "your presence honors our home."

 

"Your Highness," Dewey replied, inclining his head respectfully.

 

"Queen Elena," Vidalia murmured to Bismuth and Steven, "Thur-Man's wife." The little woman's nose twitched with suppressed mirth. "Watch her when she greets Polina."

 

The queen turned and curtsied deeply to Mister Wolf. "Divine Gregarion," she said, her rich voice throbbing with respect.

 

"Hardly divine, Elena," the old man said dryly.

 

"Immortal son of the Grey the Hallowed," she swept on, ignoring the interruption, "mightiest sorcerer in all the world. My poor house trembles at the awesome power you bring within its walls."

 

"A pretty speech, Elena," Wolf said. "A little inaccurate, but pretty all the same."

 

But the queen had already turned to Aunt Pearl. "Glorious sister," she intoned.

 

"Sister?" Steven was startled.

 

"She's a mystic," V said softly. "She dabbles a bit in magic and thinks of herself as a sorceress. Watch."

 

With an elaborate gesture the queen produced a green jewel and presented it to Aunt Pearl.

 

"She had it up her sleeve," V whispered gleefully.

 

"A royal gift, Elena," Aunt Pearl said in a strange voice. "A pity that I can only offer this in return." She handed the queen a single deep red rose.

 

"Where did she get that?" Steven asked in amazement. V winked at him.

 

The queen looked at the rose doubtfully and cupped it between her two hands. She examined it closely, and her eyes widened. The colour drained out of her face, and her hands began to tremble.

 

The second queen had stepped forward. She was a tiny blonde with a beautiful smile. Without ceremony, she kissed King Dewey and then Mister Wolf and embraced Aunt Pearl warmly. Her affection seemed simple and not at all self-conscious.

"Perla, Queen of Q'zarnia," V said, and her voice had an odd note to it. Steven glanced at her and saw the faintest hint of a bitter, self-mocking expression flicker across her face. In that single instant, as clearly as if it had suddenly been illuminated by a bright light, Steven saw the reason for V's sometimes strange manner. An almost suffocating surge of sympathy welled up in his throat.

 

The third queen, Anya of Aine, greeted King Dewey, Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl with a few brief words in a quiet voice.

 

"Is the Hroden Warder unmarried?" Bismuth asked, looking around for another queen.

 

"He had a wife," V said shortly, her eyes still on Queen Perla, "but she died some years ago. She left him four sons."

 

"Ah," Bismuth said.

 

Then Amethyst, her mood tempered somewhat from her reunion with Carnelian, entered the hall and strode to King Thur-Man's throne.

 

"Welcome home, cousin," King Thur-Man said. "I thought perhaps you'd lost your way."

 

"Famethyst business, cuz," Amethyst said. "You know I had to have a few words with Carny."

 

"You haven’t changed a bit, Amy." Thur-Man smiled.

 

"Have you met our friends?" Amethyst asked.

 

"Not as yet, Lord Amethyst," King Vladimar said. "We were involved with the customary formalities." He chuckled, and his great paunch jiggled.

 

"I'm sure you all know the Earl of Selyse," Amethyst said, "and this is Bismuth, a smith and a brave man. The boy's name is Steven. He's in Lady Polina's care - a good lad."

 

"Do you suppose we could get on with this?" Mister Wolf asked impatiently.

 

Evan, King of the Ainur, spoke in a strangely soft voice. "Art thou aware, Gregarion, of the misfortune which hath befallen us? We turn to thee for counsel."

 

"Evan," Wolf said testily, "you sound like a bad Flaxen epic. Is all this theeing and thouing really necessary?"

 

Evan looked embarrassed and glanced at King Thur-Man.

 

"My fault, Gregarion," Thur-Man said ruefully. "I set scribes to work to record our meetings. Evan was speaking to history as well as to you." His crown had slipped a bit and perched precariously over one ear.

 

"History's very tolerant, Thur-Man," Wolf said. "You don't have to try to impress her. She'll forget most of what we say anyway."

 

 

 

He turned to the Hroden Warder.

 

"Ophidian," he said, "do you suppose you could explain all this without too much embellishment?"

 

"I'm afraid it's my fault, Gregarion," the gray-robed Warder said in a deep voice. "The Renegade was able to carry off his theft because of my laxity."

 

"The thing's supposed to protect itself, Ophidian," Wolf told him. "You can't even touch it. I know the thief, and there's no way you could have kept him out of Hrodenheim. What concerns me is how he was able to lay hands on it without being destroyed by its power."

 

Ophidian spread his hands helplessly. "We woke one morning, and it was gone. The priests were only able to divine the name of the thief. The Spirit of the Lion-God wouldn't say any more. Since we knew who he was, we were careful not to speak his name or the name of the thing he took."

 

"Good," Wolf said. "He has ways to pick words out of the air at great distances. I taught him how to do that myself."

 

Ophidian nodded. "We knew that," he said. "It made phrasing our message to you difficult. When you didn't come to Hrodenheim and my messenger didn't return, I thought something had gone wrong. That's when we sent men out to find you."

 

Mister Wolf scratched at his beard. "I guess it's my own fault that I'm here then," he said. "I borrowed your messenger. I had to get word to some people in Flaxia. I suppose I should have known better."

 

V cleared his throat. "May I speak?" she asked politely.

 

"Certainly, Princess Vidalia," King Thur-Man said.

 

"Is it entirely prudent to continue these discussions in public?" V asked. "The Isyaki have enough gold to buy ears in many places, and the arts of the Marikeen can lift the thoughts out of the minds of the most loyal warriors. What isn't known can't be revealed, if you take my meaning."

 

"The warriors of Thur-Man aren't so easily bought, V," Amethyst said testily, "and there aren't any Mareks in Wy-Ate."

 

"Are you also confident about the serving boys and the kitchen wenches?" V suggested. "I've found Marikeen in some very unexpected places."

 

"There's something in what my niece says," King Vladimar said, his face thoughtful. "Q'zarnia has centuries of experience in the gathering of information, and Vidalia is one of our best. If she thinks that our words might go further than we'd want them to, we might be wise to listen to her."

 

"Thank you, uncle," V said, bowing.

 

"Could you penetrate this palace, Princess Vidalia?" King Thur-Man challenged.

 

"I already have, your Majesty," V said modestly, "a dozen times or more."

 

Thur-Man looked at Vladimar, cocking an eyebrow.

 

Vladimar coughed a little. "It was some time ago, Thur-Man. Nothing serious. I was just curious about something, that's all."

 

"All you had to do was ask," Thur-Man said in a slightly injured tone.

 

"I didn't want to bother you," Vladimar said with a shrug. "Besides, it's more fun to do it the other way."

 

"Friends," King Dewey said, "the issue before us is too important to chance compromising it. Wouldn't it be better to be overcautious rather than take any risks?"

 

King Thur-Man frowned and then shrugged. "Whatever you wish," he said. "We'll continue in private then. Cousin, would you clear old King Ed-Wyck's hall for us and set guards in the hallways near it?"

 

"Sure thing, my king," Amethyst said. She took a dozen warriors and left the hall.

 

The kings rose from their thrones-all except Evan. A lean warrior, very nearly as tall as Amethyst and with the shaved head and flowing scalp lock of the Ainur, stepped forward and helped him up.

 

Steven looked inquiringly at V.

 

"An illness when he was a child," V explained softly. "It left his legs so weak that he can't stand unaided."

 

"Doesn't that make it kind of hard for him to be king?" Steven asked.

 

"Ainur spend more time sitting on horses than they do standing on their feet," V said. "Once he's on a horse, Evan's the equal of any man in Aine. The warrior who's helping him is Ruby, his adopted daughter."

 

"You know her?" Steven asked.

 

"I know everyone, Steven." V laughed softly. "Ruby and I have met a few times. I like her, though I'd rather she didn't know that."

 

Queen Perla came over to where they stood. "Elena's taking Anya and me to her private quarters," she said to V. "Apparently women aren't supposed to be involved in matters of state here in Wy-Ate."

 

"Our Wy-Ate cousins have a few blind spots, your Highness," V said. "They're arch-conservatives, of course, and it hasn't occurred to them yet that women are human."

 

Queen Perla winked at her with a sly little grin. "Well what does that make you, Vidalia?”

 

V grinned. “The woman standing beside Polina, of course.”

 

“Ah, but of course,” Queen Perla nodded appraisingly. “Whosoever stands against her, stands briefly.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steven stayed at the rear of the group as they all made their way through the drafty corridors toward King Ed-Wyck's hall. The dry voice in his mind told him that if Aunt Pearl saw him, she'd probably find a reason to send him away.

 

As he loitered along at the rear of the procession, a furtive movement flickered briefly far down one of the side corridors. He caught only one glimpse of the man, an ordinary-looking Wy-Ate warrior wearing a dark green cloak, and then they had moved past that corridor. Steven stopped and stepped back to look again, but the man in the green cloak was gone.

 

At the door to King Ed-Wyck's hall, Aunt Pearl stood waiting with her arms crossed.

 

"Where have you been?" she asked.

 

"I was just looking around," he said as innocently as possible.

 

"I see," she said. Then she turned to Amethyst. "The council's probably going to last for a long time," she said, "and Steven's just going to get restless before it's over. Is there someplace where he can amuse himself until suppertime?"

 

"Aunt Pearl!" Steven protested.

 

"The armory, maybe?" Amethyst suggested.

 

"What would I do in an armory?" Steven demanded.

 

"Would you prefer the scullery?" Aunt Pearl asked pointedly.  


"On second thought, I think I might like to see the armory."

 

"I thought you might."

 

"It's at the far end of this corridor, Steven," Amethyst said. "The room with the red door."

 

"Run along, dear," Aunt Pearl said, "and try not to cut yourself on anything."

 

 

Steven sulked slowly down the corridor Amethyst had pointed out to him, keenly feeling the injustice of the situation. The guards posted in the passageway outside King Ed-Wyck's hall even made eavesdropping impossible. Steven sighed and continued his solitary way toward the armory.

 

The other part of his mind was busy, however, mulling over certain problems. Despite his stubborn refusal to accept the possibility that Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl were indeed Gregarion and Polina, the behaviour of the Sangrian Kings made it obvious that they at least did believe it.

Then there was the question of the rose Aunt Pearl had given to Queen Elena. Setting aside the fact that roses do not bloom in the winter, how had Aunt Pearl known that Elena would present her with that green jewel and therefore prepared the rose in advance?

 

He deliberately avoided the idea that his Aunt had simply created the rose on the spot.

 

The corridor along which he passed, deep in thought, was dim, with only a few torches set in rings on the walls to light the way. Side passages branched out from it here and there, gloomy, unlighted openings that stretched back into the darkness.

He had almost reached the armory when he heard a faint sound in one of those dark passages. Without knowing exactly why, he drew back into one of the other openings and waited.

 

The man in the green cloak stepped out into the lighted corridor and looked around furtively. He was an ordinary-looking man with a short, sandy beard, and he probably could have walked anywhere in the palace without attracting much notice. His manner, however, and his stealthy movements cried out louder than words that he was doing something he was not supposed to be doing.

 

He hurried up the corridor in the direction from which Steven had come, and Steven shrank back into the protective darkness of his hiding place. When he carefully poked his head out into the corridor again, the man had disappeared, and it was impossible to know down which of those dark side passageways he had gone.

 

Steven's inner voice told him that even if he told anyone about this, they wouldn't listen. He'd need more than just an uneasy feeling of suspicion to report if he didn't want to appear foolish. All he could do for the time being was to keep his eyes open for the man in the green cloak.

 


	26. Out And About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow Steven in this fanfic's equivalent of a townie episode as Steven's role models, V, Amy and Bismuth, take him out for a day on the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real reveals here folks.
> 
> Just enjoy some more lore and Steven getting a chance to recoup some of his lost childhood.

**IT WAS SNOWING** the following morning, and Aunt Pearl, V, Amethyst, and Mister Wolf again met for council with the kings, leaving Steven in Bismuth's keeping.

The two sat near the fire in the huge hall with the thrones, watching the two dozen or so bearded Wy-Ate warriors who lounged about or engaged in various activities to pass the time. Some of them sharpened their swords or polished their armor; others ate or sat drinking-even though it was still quite early in the morning; several were engaged in a heated dice game; and some simply sat with their backs against the wall and slept.

"These Wy-Ates seem to be very idle people," Bismuth said quietly to Steven. "I haven't seen anyone actually working since we arrived, have you?"

Steven shook his head. "I think these are the king's own warriors," he said just as quietly. "I don't think they're supposed to do anything except sit around and wait for the king to tell them to go fight someone."

 

Bismuth frowned disapprovingly. "It must be a terribly boring way to live," he said.

 

"Bismuth," Steven asked after a moment, "did you notice the way Amethyst and her sister acted towards each other?”

 

“What about them?” Bismuth asked.

 

“I mean, how can Amethyst be so--” Steven paused, “how can she just leave her holdings to her sister like that? Isn’t she worried that her sister would steal them from her?”

 

"Steal?” Bismuth said. “I don’t see how that’s possible, Steven. Even here at the high court, King Thur-Man recognises Amethyst as the Earl of Crenellan, not her sister.”

 

"Okay, but… still?” Steven left the question hanging, hoping Bismuth would catch his meaning.

 

"Gems aren’t like us humans, Steven,” Bismuth replied. “They pop out the ground as full-grown people. They don’t have family, at least not like we do, but they’re very close to the ones who pop out of the same places as they do.”

 

“So, Amethyst and Carnelia are close… because they came out of the same rock?”

 

“More or less.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“That’s because we’re not gems, Steven,” Bismuth said. “We’re human. The Diamonds made them that way.”

 

Their conversation hit a lull as Steven pondered upon those answers. They sat by the fire silently, until silence became a nuisance. Steven felt the urge to say something to break it again.

 

"Did you know that V's in love with her aunt?" Steven said without stopping to think.

 

"Steven!" Bismuth's voice was shocked. "That's an unseemly thing to say."

"It's true all the same," Steven said defensively. "Of course she's not really her aunt, I guess. She's her uncle's second wife. It's not exactly like she was his real aunt."

 

"She's married to his uncle," Bismuth said firmly. "Who made up this scandalous story?"

 

"Nobody made it up," Steven said. "I was watching her face when she talked to her yesterday. It's pretty plain the way she feels about her."

 

"I'm sure you just imagined it," Bismuth said disapprovingly. He stood up. "Let's look around. That will give us something better to do than sit here gossiping about our friends. It's really not the sort of thing decent men do."

 

"All right," Steven agreed quickly, a little embarrassed. He stood up and followed Bismuth across the smoky hall and out into the corridor. "Let's have a look at the kitchen," Steven suggested.

 

"And the smithy, too," Bismuth said.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The royal kitchens were enormous. Entire oxen roasted on spits, and whole flocks of geese simmered in lakes of gravy. Stews bubbled in cart-sized cauldrons, and battalions of loaves were marched into ovens big enough to stand in. Unlike Aunt Pearl's well-ordered kitchen at Alger's farm, everything here was chaos and confusion. The head cook was a huge man with a red face who screamed orders which everyone ignored. There were shouts and threats and a great deal of horseplay. A spoon heated in a fire and left where an unsuspecting cook would pick it up brought shrieks of mirth, and one man's hat was stolen and deliberately thrown into a seething pot of stew.

 

"Let's go someplace else, Bismuth," he said. "This isn't what I expected at all."

 

Bismuth nodded. "Mistress Pearl would never tolerate all of this foolishness," he agreed disapprovingly.

 

In the hallways outside the kitchen, a maid with reddish-blond hair and a pale green dress cut quite low at the bodice loitered.

 

"Excuse me," Bismuth said to her politely, "could you direct us to the smithy?"

 

She looked him up and down boldly. "Are you new here?" she asked. "I haven't seen you before."

 

"We're just visiting," Bismuth said.

 

"Where are you from?" she demanded.

 

"Delmarvia," Bismuth said.

 

"How interesting. Perhaps the boy could run this errand for you, and you and I could talk for a while." Her look was direct.

 

Bismuth coughed, and his ears reddened. "The smithy?" he asked again.

 

The maid laughed lightly. "In the courtyard at the end on this corridor," she said. "I'm usually around here someplace. I'm sure you can find me when you finish your business with the smith."

 

"Yes," Bismuth said, "I'm sure I could. Come along, Steven."

 

They went on down the corridor and out into a snowy inner courtyard.

 

"Outrageous!" Bismuth said stiffly, his ears still flaming. "The girl has no sense of propriety whatsoever. I'd report her if I knew to whom."

 

"Absolutely scandalous," Steven agreed, secretly amused by Bismuth's embarrassment.

 

They crossed the courtyard through the lightly sifting snow.

 

 

 

The smithy was presided over by a huge, black-bearded man with forearms as big as Steven's thighs. Bismuth introduced himself and the two were soon happily talking shop to the accompaniment of the ringing blows of the smith's hammer. Steven noticed that instead of the plows, spades, and hoes that would fill a Delmarvian smithy, the walls here were hung with swords, spears, and war axes. At one forge an apprentice was hammering out arrowheads, and at another, a lean, one-eyed man was working on an evil-looking dagger.

 

Bismuth and the smith talked together for most of the remainder of the morning while Steven wandered about the inner courtyard watching the various workmen at their tasks. There were coopers and wheelwrights, cobblers and carpenters, saddlers and candlemakers, all busily at work to maintain the huge household of King Thur-Man.

 

As he watched, Steven also kept his eyes open for the sandy-bearded man in the green cloak he'd seen the night before. It wasn't likely that the man would be here where honest work was being done, but Steven stayed alert all the same.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

About noon, Amethyst came looking for them and led them back to the great hall where V lounged, intently watching a dice game.

 

"T-Man and the others want to meet privately this afternoon," Amethyst said. "I've got an errand to run, and I thought you might want to go along."

 

"That might not be a bad idea," V said, tearing her eyes from the game. "Your cousin's warriors dice badly, and I'm tempted to try a few rolls with them. It would probably be better if I didn't. Most men take offense at losing to women.”

 

Amethyst grinned. "I'm sure they'd be glad to let you play, V," she said. "They've got just as much chance of winning as you do."

 

"Just as the sun has as much chance of coming up in the west as in the east," V said.

 

"Are you that sure of your skill, V?" Bismuth asked.

 

"I'm sure of theirs." V chuckled. She jumped up. "Let's go," she said. "My fingers are starting to itch. Let's get them away from temptation."

 

"Anything you say, Princess Vidalia." Amethyst laughed.

 

They all put on fur cloaks and left the palace. The snow had almost stopped, and the wind was brisk.

 

"I'm a bit confused by all these names," Bismuth said as they trudged toward the central part of Van Sangria.

 

"I've been meaning to ask about it,” he went on. “ You, friend V, are also Princess Vidalia and sometimes the merchant Helena of Goku, and Mister Wolf is called Gregarion, and Mistress Pearl is also Lady Polina or the Duchess of Eva. Where I come from, people usually have one name."

 

"Names are like clothes, Bismuth," V explained. "We put on what's most suitable for the occasion. Honest men have little need to wear strange clothes or strange names. Those of us who aren't so honest, however, occasionally have to change one or the other."

 

"I don't find it amusing to hear Mistress Pearl described as not being honest," Bismuth said stiffly.

 

"No disrespect intended," V assured him. "Simple definitions don't apply to Lady Polina; and when I say that we're not honest, I simply mean that this business we're in sometimes requires us to conceal ourselves from people who are evil as well as devious."

 

Bismuth looked unconvinced but let it pass.

 

"Let's take this street," Amethyst suggested. "I don't want to pass the Temple of Lion today."

 

"Why?" Steven asked.

 

"I'm a little behind in my religious duties," Amethyst said with a pained look, "and I'd rather not be reminded of it by the High Sangrion. His voice is very penetrating, and I don't like being called down in front of the whole city. A prudent man doesn't give either a priest or a woman the opportunity to scold him in public."

 

The streets of Van Sangria were narrow and crooked, and the ancient stone houses were tall and narrow with overhanging second stories. Despite the intermittent snow and the crisp wind, the streets seemed full of people, most of them garbed in furs against the chill.

 

There was much good-humoured shouting and the exchange of bawdy insults. Two elderly and dignified men were pelting each other with snowballs in the middle of one street to the raucous encouragement of the bystanders.

"They're old friends," Amethyst said with a broad grin. "They do this every day all winter long. Pretty soon they'll go to an alehouse and get drunk and sing old songs together until they fall off their benches. They've been doing it for years now."

 

"What do they do in the summer?" V asked.

 

"They throw **_rocks_ ** ," Amethyst said. "The drinking and singing and falling off the benches stays the same, though."

 

"Hello, Amy," a green-eyed young woman called from an upper window. "When are you coming to see me again?"

 

Amethyst glanced up, and his face flushed, but he didn't answer.

 

"That lady's talking to you, Amethyst," Steven said.

 

"I heard her," Amethyst replied shortly.

 

"She seems to know you," V said with a sly look.

 

"She knows everyone," Amethyst said, flushing even more. "Can we please move on?"

 

“As you wish, Amy,” V purred, delighting in Amethyst’s flustered expression.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Around another corner a group of men dressed in shaggy furs shuffled along in single file. Their gait was a kind of curious swaying from side to side, and people quickly made way for them.

 

"Hail, Lord Amethyst," their leader intoned.

 

"Hail, Lord Amethyst," the others said in unison, still swaying.

 

Amethyst bowed stiffly.

 

"May the arm of the Lion protect thee," the leader said. "All praise to Pink Diamond, Lion-God of Sangria," the others said. Amethyst bowed again and stood until the procession had passed.

 

"Who were they?" Bismuth asked.

 

"Lion-cultists," Amethyst said with distaste. "Religious fanatics."

 

"A troublesome group," V explained. "They have chapters in all the Sangrian kingdoms. They're excellent warriors, but they're the instruments of the High Sangrion. They spend their time in rituals, military training, and interfering in local politics."

 

"Where's this Sangria they spoke of?" Steven asked.

 

"All around us," Amethyst said with a broad gesture. "Sangria used to be all the Sangrian kingdoms together. They were all one nation. The cultists want to reunite them."

 

"That doesn't seem unreasonable," Bismuth said.

 

"Sangria was divided for a reason," Amethyst said. "A certain thing had to be protected, and the division of Sangria was the best way to do that."

 

"Was this thing so important?" Bismuth asked.

 

"It's the most important thing in the world," V said. "The Lion-Cultists tend to forget that."

 

"Only now it's been stolen, hasn't it?" Steven blurted as that dry voice in his mind informed him of the connection between what Amethyst and V had just said and the sudden disruption of his own life. "It's this thing that Mister Wolf is following."

 

Amethyst glanced quickly at him.

 

"He’s getting better everyday, V," she said soberly.

 

"He's a clever boy," V agreed, "and it's not hard to put it all together." Her ferret face was grave. "You're right, of course, Steven," she said. "We don't know how yet, but somebody's managed to steal it. If Gregarion gives the word, the Sangrian Kings will take the world apart stone by stone to get it back."

 

"You mean war?" Bismuth said in a sinking voice.

 

"There are worse things than war," Amethyst said grimly. "It might be a good opportunity to dispose of the Alabastians once and for all."

 

"Let's hope that Gregarion can persuade the Sangrian Kings otherwise," V said.

 

"The thing has to be recovered," Amethyst insisted.

 

"Granted," V agreed, "but there are other ways, and I hardly think a public street's the place to discuss our alternatives."

 

Amethyst looked around quickly, her eyes narrowing.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

They had by then reached the harbour where the masts of the ships of Wy-Ate rose as thickly as trees in a forest. They crossed an icy bridge over a frozen stream and came to several large yards where the skeletons of ships lay in the snow.

 

A limping man in a leather smock came from a low stone building in the center of one of the yards and stood watching their approach.

 

"Ho, Kan-Dor," Amethyst called.

 

"Ho, Amethyst," the man in the leather smock replied.

 

"How does the work go?" Amethyst asked.

 

"Slowly in this season," Kan-Dor said. "It's not a good time to work with wood. My artisans are fashioning the fittings and sawing the boards, but we won't be able to do much more until spring."

 

Amethyst nodded and walked over to lay her hand on the new wood of a ship prow rising out of the snow.

 

"Kan-Dor is building this for me," she said, patting the prow. "She'll be the finest ship afloat."

 

"If your oarsmen are strong enough to move her," Kan-Dor said. "She'll be very big, Amethyst, and very heavy."

 

"Then I'll man her with big men," Amethyst said, still gazing at the ribs of her ship.

 

 

 

Steven heard a gleeful shout from the hillside above the shipyard and looked up quickly. Several young people were sliding down the hill on smooth planks. It was obvious that Amethyst and the others were going to spend most of the rest of the afternoon discussing the ship. While that might be all very interesting, Steven realized that he hadn't spoken with anyone his own age for a long time. He drifted away from the others and stood at the foot of the hill, watching.

 

One blond girl particularly attracted his eye. In some ways she reminded him of Elyne, but there were some differences. Where Elyne had been petite, this girl was as tall as a boy - though she was noticeably not a boy. Her laughter rang out merrily, and her cheeks were pink in the cold afternoon air as she slid down the hill with her long braids flying behind her.

 

"That looks like fun," Steven said as her improvised sled came to rest nearby.

 

"Would you like to try?" she asked, getting up and brushing the snow from her woolen dress.

 

"I don't have a sled," he told her.

 

"I might let you use mine," she said, looking at him archly, "if you give me something."

 

"What would you want me to give you?" he asked.

 

"We'll think of something," she said, eyeing him boldly. "What's your name?"

 

"Steven," he said.

 

"What an odd name. Do you come from here?"

 

"No. I'm from Delmarvia."

"A Delmar? Truly?" Her blue eyes twinkled. "I've never met a Delmar before. My name is Vera."

 

Steven inclined his head slightly.

 

"Do you want to use my sled?" Vera asked.

 

"I might like to try it," Steven said.

 

"I might let you," she said, "for a kiss."

 

Steven blushed furiously, and Vera laughed.

 

A large red-haired boy in a long tunic slid to a stop nearby and rose with a menacing look on his face.

 

"Vera, come away from there," he ordered.

 

"What if I don't want to?" she asked.

 

The red-haired boy swaggered toward Steven.

 

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

 

"I was talking with Vera," Steven said.

 

"Who gave you permission?" the red-haired boy asked. He was a bit taller than Steven and somewhat heavier.

 

"I didn't bother to ask permission," Steven said.

 

The red-haired boy glowered, flexing his muscles threateningly.

 

"I can thrash you if I like," he announced.

 

Steven realized that the redhead was feeling belligerent and that a fight was inevitable. The preliminaries-threats, insults and the like would probably go on for several more minutes, but the fight would take place as soon as the boy in the long tunic had worked himself up to it. Steven decided not to wait. He doubled his fist and punched the larger boy in the nose.

 

The blow was a good one, and the redhead stumbled back and sat down heavily in the snow. He raised one hand to his nose and brought it away bright red.

 

"It's bleeding!" he wailed accusingly. "You made my nose bleed."

 

"It'll stop in a few minutes," Steven said.

 

"What if it doesn't?"

 

"Nosebleeds don't last forever," Steven told him.

 

"Why did you hit me?" the redhead demanded tearfully, wiping his nose. "I didn't do anything to you."

 

"You were going to," Steven said. "Put snow on it, and don't be such a baby."

 

"It's still bleeding," the boy said.

 

"Put snow on it," Steven said again.

 

"What if it doesn't stop bleeding?"

 

"Then you'll probably bleed out and die," Steven said in a heartless tone.

 

It was a trick he had learned from Aunt Pearl. It worked as well on the Wy-Ate boy as it had on Onion and Pinto. The redhead blinked at him and then took a large handful of snow and held it to his nose.

 

"Are all Delmars so cruel?" Vera gasped in feigned shock.

 

"I don't know all the people in Delmarvia," Steven said.

 

The affair hadn't turned out well at all, and regretfully he turned and started back toward the shipyard.

 

"Steven, wait," Vera said. She ran after him and caught him by the arm. "You forgot my kiss," she said, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips.

 

"There," she said, and she turned and ran laughing back up the hill, her blond braids flying behind her.

 

Amethyst, V and Bismuth were all laughing when he returned to where they stood.

 

 

 

"You were supposed to chase her," Amethyst said.

 

"What for?" Steven asked, flushing at their laughter.

 

"She wanted you to catch her."

 

"I don't understand."

 

"Amy," V said, "I think that one of us is going to have to inform the Lady Polina that our Steven needs some further education."

 

"You're skilled with words, V," Amethyst said. "I'm sure you ought to be the one to tell her."

 

"Why don't we throw dice for the privilege?" V suggested.

 

"I've seen you throw dice before, V." Amethyst laughed.

"Of course we could simply stay here a while longer," V said slyly. "I rather imagine that Steven's new playmate would be quite happy to complete his education, and that way we wouldn't have to bother Lady Polina about it."

 

Steven's ears were flaming.

 

"I'm not as stupid as all that," he said hotly. "I know what you're talking about, and you don't have to say anything to Aunt Pearl about it."

 

He stamped away angrily, kicking at the snow.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

After Amethyst had talked for a while longer with his shipbuilder and the harbor had begun to darken with the approach of evening, they started back toward the palace. Steven sulked along behind, still offended by their laughter.

 

The clouds which had hung overhead since their arrival in Van Sangria had begun to tatter, and patches of clear sky began to appear. Here and there single stars twinkled as evening slowly settled in the snowy streets. The soft light of candles began to glow in the windows of the houses, and the few people left in the streets hurried to get home before dark.

 

 

Steven, still loitering behind, saw two men entering a wide door beneath a crude sign depicting a cluster of grapes. One of them was the sandy-bearded man in the green cloak that he had seen in the palace the night before.

 

The other man wore a dark hood, and Steven felt a familiar tingle of recognition. Even though he couldn't see the hooded man's face, there was no need of that. They had looked at each other too often for there to be any doubt. As always before, Steven felt that peculiar restraint, almost like a ghostly finger touching his lips.

 

The hooded man was Rohk-Nal-Do, and, though the Isyaki's presence here was very important, it was for some reason impossible for Steven to speak of it. He watched the two men only for a moment and then hurried to catch up with his friends. He struggled with the compulsion that froze his tongue, and then tried another approach.

 

"Amethyst," he asked, "are there many Isyakis in Van Sangria?"

 

"There aren't any Isyakis in Wy-Ate," Amethyst said. "Alabastians aren't allowed in this kingdom on pain of death. It's our oldest law. It was laid down by good old Wy-Ate Broad-shoulders himself. Why do you ask?"

 

"I was just wondering," Steven said lamely. His mind shrieked with the need to tell them about Rohk-Nal-Do, but his lips stayed frozen.

 

 

That evening, when they were all seated at the long table in King Thur-Man's central hall with a great feast set before them, Amethyst entertained them with a broadly exaggerated account of Steven's encounter with the young people on the hillside.

 

"A great blow it was," she said in expansive tones, "worthy of the mightiest warrior and truly struck upon the nose of the foe. The bright blood flew, and the enemy was dismayed and overcome. Like a hero, Steven stood over the vanquished man, and, in the true spirit of a hero, did not boast nor taunt his fallen opponent, but offered instead advice for quelling that crimson flood. With simple dignity then, he quit the field, but the bright-eyed maid would not let him depart unrewarded for his valour. Hastily, she pursued him and fondly clasped her snowy arms about his neck. And there she lovingly bestowed that single kiss that is the true hero's greatest reward. Her eyes flamed with admiration, and her chaste bosom heaved with newly wakened passion. But modest Steven innocently departed and tarried not to claim those other sweet rewards the gentle maid's fond demeanor so clearly offered. And thus the adventure ended with our hero tasting victory but tenderly declining victory's true compensation."

 

The warriors and kings at the long table roared with laughter and pounded the table and their knees and each others' backs in their glee. Queen Elena and Queen Anya smiled tolerantly, and Queen Perla laughed openly. Lady Carnelian, however, simply smiled wistfully, as though she had heard the tale many times over.

 

Steven sat with his face aflame, his ears besieged with shouted suggestions and advice.

 

"Is that really the way it happened, oh niece of mine?" King Vladimar demanded of V, wiping tears from his eyes.

 

"More or less," V replied. "Lord Amethyst's telling was masterful, though a good deal embellished."

 

"We should send for a minstrel," the Earl of Selyse said. "This exploit should be immortalized in song."

 

"Oh, don't tease him," Queen Perla said, looking sympathetically at Steven.

 

Steven looked across the table at Aunt Pearl, who, since the start of the story, had an eyebrow cocked the whole time, as though questioning the reliability of the story.

 

Steven knew better though. He had seen that look before, and knew that his three chaperones were about to suffer dearly.

 

 

"Isn't it odd that three grown men can't keep one boy out of trouble?" she asked.

.

"It was only one blow, my Lady," V protested, "and only one kiss, after all."

 

"Really?" she said. "And what's it going to be next time? A duel with swords, perhaps, and even greater foolishness afterward?"

 

"There was no real harm in it, Mistress Pol," Bismuth assured her.

 

Aunt Pearl shook her head. "I thought you at least had good sense, Bismuth," she said, "but now I see that I was wrong."

Bismuth visibly wilted at her words, though if she saw it, Aunt Pearl did not acknowledge it in the slightest.

 

Steven suddenly resented her remarks. It seemed that no matter what he did, she was ready to take it in the worst possible light. His resentment flared to the verge of open rebellion. What right had she to say anything about what he did? There was no tie between them, after all, and he could do anything he wanted without her permission if he felt like it. He glared at her in sullen anger.

 

She caught the look and returned it with a cool expression that seemed almost to challenge him.

 

"Well?" she asked.

 

"Nothing," he said shortly.

 


	27. Comes The Wild Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amethyst, bored by politics, takes the reins this time as she leads Steven out on a hunting expedition. Not all is as it seems, however, as danger seems to find Steven no matter where he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some hints into Amethyst's grand role in our fantasy epic, and also more secrets to be heard by the ears of none other than our little Steven.

**THE NEXT MORNING** dawned bright and crisp. The sky was a deep blue, and the sunlight was dazzling on the white mountaintops that rose behind the city. After breakfast, Mister Wolf announced that he and Aunt Pearl would again meet privately that day with Dewey and the Sangrian Kings.

 

"Good idea," Amethyst said. "Kings are good for dealing with gloomy, serious . Unless one has regal obligations, however, it's much too fine a day to be wasted indoors."

 

She grinned mockingly at her cousin.

 

"There's a streak of cruelty in you that I hadn't suspected, Amethyst," King Thur-Man said, glancing longingly out a nearby window.

 

"Do the wild boars still come down to the edges of the forest?" Amethyst asked.

 

"In droves," Thur-Man replied even more disconsolately.

 

"I thought I might gather a few good men and go out and see if we can thin their numbers a bit," Amethyst said, his grin even wider now.

 

"I was almost sure you had something like that in mind," Thur-Man said moodily, scratching at his unkempt hair.

 

"I'm doing you a service, Thur-Man," Amethyst said. "You don't want your kingdom overrun with the beasts, do you?"

 

Vladimar, the fat King of Q'zarnia, laughed hugely.  "I think she's got you, Thur-Man," he said.

 

"She usually does," Thur-Man agreed sourly.

 

"I gladly leave such activities to younger and leaner men," Vladimar said.

 

He slapped his vast paunch with both hands. "I don't mind a good supper, but I'd rather not have to fight with it first. I make too good a target. The blindest boar in the world wouldn't have much trouble finding me."

 

"Well, V," Amethyst said, "what do you say?"

 

"You're not serious," V said.

 

"You must go along, Princess Vidalia," Queen Perla insisted. "Someone has to represent the honor of Q'zarnia in this venture."

 

V's face looked pained.

 

"You can be my champion," she said, her eyes sparkling.

 

"Have you been reading Flaxian epics again, your Highness?" V asked acidly.

"Consider it a royal command," she said. "Some fresh air and exercise won't hurt you. You're starting to look dyspeptic."

 

V bowed ironically. "As you wish, your Highness," she said. "I suppose that if things get out of hand I can always climb a tree."

 

"How about you, Bismuth?" Amethyst asked.

 

"I don't know much about hunting, friend Amethyst," Bismuth said doubtfully, "but I'll come along if you like."

 

"My Lord?" Amethyst asked the Earl of Selyse politely.

 

"Oh, no, Lord Amethyst." Selyse laughed. "I outgrew my enthusiasm for such sport years ago. Thanks for the invitation, however."

 

"Ruby?" Amethyst asked the rangy Ainur. Ruby glanced quickly at her father.

 

"Go along, Ruby," Evan said in his soft voice. "I'm sure King Thur-Man will lend me a warrior to help me walk."

 

"I'll do it myself, Evan," Thur-Man said. "I've carried heavier burdens."

 

"I'll go with you then, Lord Amethyst," Ruby said. "And thanks for asking me." Her voice was deep and resonant, but very soft, much like that of her father. At times it had a peculiar drawling quality to it, but only in moments of excitement, which for Ruby, meant not at all.

 

"Well, Steve-o?" Amethyst asked Steven.

 

"Have you lost your wits entirely, Amethyst?" Aunt Pearl snapped. "Didn't you get him into enough trouble yesterday?"

 

That was the last straw. The sudden elation he'd felt at Amethyst's invitation turned to anger. Steven gritted his teeth and threw away all caution.

 

"If Amethyst doesn't think I'll just be in the way, I'll be glad to go along," he announced defiantly.

 

Aunt Pearl stared at him, her eyes suddenly very hard.

 

"Your cub is growing teeth, Pearl." Mister Wolf chuckled.

 

"Be quiet, Greg," Aunt Pearl said, still glaring at Steven.

 

"Not this time, Pearl," the old man said with a hint of iron in his voice. "He's made his decision, and you're not going to humiliate him by unmaking it for him. Steven isn't a child now. You may not have noticed, but he's almost man high and filling out now. He'll soon be fifteen, Pearl. You're going to have to relax your grip sometime, and now's as good a time as any to start treating him like a man."

 

She looked at him for a moment.

 

"Whatever you say, father," she said at last with deceptive meekness. "I'm sure we'll want to discuss this later, though-in private."

 

Mister Wolf winced.

 

Aunt Pearl looked at Steven then. "Try to be careful, dear," she said, "and when you come back, we'll have a nice long talk, won't we?"

 

With that, she and Mister Wolf strode away.

 

"Sure you can hunt a boar alone, sis?" Lady Carnelian asked in the jovial and joking manner she always assumed with Amethyst.

 

"Never needed you the first time, what makes you think I’ll start now?" Amethyst retorted, grinning.

 

“Ohhhh, well now,” began Carnelian threateningly, “I could think of a few reasons. Like, for example, how that form you seem so proud to hold is actuall--”

 

"Stop right there, Carny," Amethyst hastily replied.  "You've made your point."

 

"Hit a nerve, have I Amy?”

 

"That’s quite enough from you,  unless you want your new rank to be as tall as you are.”

 

“Ooh, harsh. All that over a joke?” said Carnelian, feigning surprise. “All that time outside of Wy-Ate’s thinned your skin, Aimes.”

 

 

"Perhaps you ladies would like to join me," Queen Elena said, interjecting. "We'll cast auguries and see if we can predict the outcome of the hunt."

 

Queen Perla, who stood somewhat behind the Queen of Wy-Ate, rolled her eyes upward in resignation.

 

Queen Anya smiled at her.

 

"Let's go then," Amethyst said. "The boars are waiting."

 

"Sharpening their tusks, no doubt," V said.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Amethyst led them down to the red door of the armory where they were joined by a grizzled man with enormously broad shoulders who wore a bullhide shirt with metal plates sewn on it.

 

"This is Tormund," Amethyst introduced the grizzled man, "Thur-Man's chief huntsman. He knows every boar in the forest by his first name."

 

"My Lord Amethyst is overkind," Tormund said, bowing.

 

"How does one go about this hunting of boars, friend Tormund?" Bismuth asked politely. "I've never done it before."

 

"It's a simple thing," Tormund explained. "I take my huntsmen into the forest and we drive the beasts with noise and shouting. You and the other hunters wait for them with these." He gestured at a rack of stout, broad-headed boar spears. "When the boar sees you standing in his way, he charges you and tries to kill you with his tusks, but instead you kill him with your spear."

 

"I see," Bismuth said somewhat doubtfully. "It doesn't sound very complicated."

 

"We wear mail shirts, Bismuth," Amethyst said. "Our hunters are hardly ever injured seriously."

 

" 'Hardly ever' has an uncomfortable ring of frequency to it, Amethyst," V said, fingering a mail shirt hanging on a peg by the door.

 

"Weren’t you the guy who always said that it ain’t fun if there ain’t any risk to it?" Amethyst shrugged, hefting a boar spear.

 

"Have you ever thought of throwing dice instead?" V asked.

 

"Not with your dice, V." Amethyst laughed.

 

 

 

They began pulling on mail shirts while Tormund's huntsmen carried several armloads of boar spears out to the sleighs waiting in the snowy courtyard of the palace.

 

Steven found the mail shirt heavy and more than a little uncomfortable. The steel rings dug at his skin even through his heavy clothes, and every time he tried to shift his posture to relieve the pressure of one of them, a half dozen others bit at him. The air was very cold as they climbed into the sleighs, and the usual fur robes seemed hardly adequate.

 

They drove through the narrow, twisting streets of Van Sangria toward the great west gate on the opposite side of the city from the harbor. The breath of the horses steamed in the icy air as they rode.

 

The ragged old blind woman from the temple stepped from a doorway as they passed in the bright morning sun.

 

"Hail, Lord Amethyst," she croaked. "Thy Doom is at hand. Thou shalt taste of it before this day's sun finds its bed."

 

Without a word Amethyst rose in her sleigh, took up a boar spear and cast it with deadly accuracy full at the old woman.

 

With surprising speed, the witch-woman swung her staff and knocked the spear aside in midair.

 

"It will avail thee not to try to kill old Martje." She laughed scornfully. "Thy spear shall not find her, neither shall thy sword. Go thou, Amethyst. Thy Doom awaits thee."

And then she turned toward the sleigh in which Steven sat beside the startled Bismuth.

 

"Hail, Lord of Lords," she intoned. "Thy peril this day shall be great, but thou shall survive it. And it is thy peril which shall reveal the mark of the beast which is the Doom of thy friend Amethyst."

 

And then she bowed and scampered away before Amethyst could lay her hands on another spear.

 

"What was that about, Steven?" Bismuth asked, his eyes still surprised.

 

"Amethyst says she's a crazy old blind woman," Steven said. "She stopped us when we arrived in Van Sangria after you and the others had already passed."

 

"What was all that talk about Doom?" Bismuth asked with a shudder.

 

"I don't know," Steven said. "Amethyst wouldn't explain it."

 

"It's a bad omen so early in the day," Bismuth said. "These Wy-Ates are a strange people."

 

Steven nodded in agreement.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Beyond the west gate of the city were open fields, sparkling white in the full glare of the morning sun. They crossed the fields toward the dark edge of the forest two leagues away with great plumes of powdery snow flying out behind their racing sleighs.

 

Farmsteads lay muffled in snow along their track. The buildings were all made of logs and had high-peaked wooden roofs.

 

"These people seem to be indifferent to danger," Bismuth said. "I certainly wouldn't want to live in a wooden house - what with the possibility of fire and all."

 

"It's a different country, after all," Steven said. "We can't expect the whole world to live the way we do in Delmarvia."

 

"I suppose not," Bismuth sighed, "but I'll tell you, Steven, I'm not very comfortable here. Some people just aren't meant for travel. Sometimes I wish we'd never left Alger's farm."

 

"I do too, sometimes," Steven admitted, looking at the towering mountains that seemed to rise directly out of the forest ahead. "Someday it will be over, though, and we'll be able to go home again."

 

Bismuth nodded and sighed once more.

 

By the time they had entered the woods, Amethyst had regained her temper and her good spirits, and she set about placing the hunters as if nothing had happened. She led Steven through the calf deep snow to a large tree some distance from the narrow sleigh track.

 

"This is a good place," she said. "There's a game trail here, and the boars may use it to try to escape the noise of Tormund and his huntsmen. When one comes, brace yourself and hold your spear with its point aimed at his chest. They don't see very well, and he'll run full into your spear before he even knows it's there. After that it's probably best to jump behind a tree. Sometimes the spear makes them very angry."

 

"What if I miss?" Steven asked.

 

"Let’s not talk about that," Amethyst advised. "It's not a very good idea."

 

"I didn't mean that I was going to do it on purpose," Steven said. "Will he try to get away from me or what?"

 

"Sometimes they'll try to run," Amethyst said, "but I wouldn't count on it. More likely he'll try to split you up the middle with his tusks. At that point it's usually a good idea to climb a tree."

 

"I'll remember that," Steven said, shuddering.

 

"I won't be far away if you have trouble," Amethyst promised, handing Steven a pair of heavy spears. Then he trudged back to his sleigh, and they all galloped off, leaving Steven standing alone under the large oak tree.

 

 

 

It was shadowy among the dark tree trunks, and bitingly cold. Steven walked around a bit through the snow, looking for the best place to await the boar. The trail Amethyst had pointed out was a beaten path winding back through the dark brush, and Steven found the size of the tracks imprinted in the snow on the path alarmingly large. The oak tree with low-spreading limbs began to look very inviting, but he dismissed that thought angrily. He was expected to stand on the ground and meet the charge of the boar, and he decided that he would rather die than hide in a tree like a frightened child.

 

The dry voice in his mind advised him that he spent far too much time worrying about things like that. Until he was grown, no one would consider him a man, so why should he go to all the trouble of trying to seem brave when it wouldn't do any good anyway?

 

The forest was very quiet now, and the snow muffled all sounds. No bird sang, and there was only the occasional padded thump of snow sliding from overloaded branches to the earth beneath. Steven felt terribly alone. What was he doing here? What business had a good, sensible Delmarvian boy here in the endless forests of Wy-Ate, awaiting the charge of a savage wild pig with only a pair of unfamiliar spears for company?

 

What had the pig ever done to him? He realized that he didn't even particularly like the taste of pork.

 

He was some distance from the beaten forest track along which their sleighs had passed, and he set his back to the oak tree, shivered, and waited.

 

He didn't realize how long he had been listening to the sound when he became fully aware of it. It was not the stamping, squealing rush of a wild boar he had been expecting but was, rather, the measured pace of several horses moving slowly along the snow-carpeted floor of the forest, and it was coming from behind him. Cautiously he eased his face around the tree.

 

Three riders, muffled in furs, emerged from the woods on the far side of the sleigh-churned track. They stopped and sat waiting. Two of them were bearded warriors, little different from dozens of others Steven had seen in King Thur-Man's palace.

 

The third man, however, had long, amber-colored hair and wore no beard. His face had the sullen, pampered look of a spoiled child, although he was a man of middle years, and he sat his horse disdainfully as if the company of the other two somehow offended him.

 

After a time, the sound of another horse came from near the edge of the forest. Almost holding his breath, Steven waited. The other rider slowly approached the three who sat their horses in the snow at the edge of the trees. It was the sandy-bearded man in the green cloak whom Steven had seen creeping through the passageways of King Thur-Man's palace two nights before.

 

"My Lord," the green-cloaked man said deferentially as he joined the other three.

 

"Where have you been?" the amber-haired man demanded.

 

"Lord Amethyst took some of his guests on a boar hunt this morning. Her route was the same as mine, and I didn't want to follow too closely."

 

The nobleman grunted sourly.

 

"We saw them deeper in the wood," he said. "Well, what have you heard?"

 

"Very little, my Lord. The kings are meeting with the old man and the woman in a guarded chamber. I can't get close enough to hear what they're saying."

 

"I'm paying you good gold to get close enough. I have to know what they're saying. Go back to the palace and work out a way to hear what they're talking about."

 

"I'll try, my Lord," the green-cloaked man said, bowing somewhat stiffly.

 

"You'll do more than try," the amber-haired man snapped.

 

"As you wish, my Lord," the other said, starting to turn his horse.

 

"Wait," the nobleman commended. "Were you able to meet with our friend?"

 

"Your friend, my Lord," the other corrected with distaste. "I met him, and we went to a tavern and talked a little."

 

"What did he say?"

 

"Nothing very useful. His kind seldom do."

 

"Will he meet us as he said he would?"

 

"He told me that he would. If you want to believe him, that's your affair."

 

The nobleman ignored that.

 

"Who arrived with the King of the Delmars?"

 

"The old man and the woman, another old man-some Delmarvian noble, I think, Lord Amethyst and a ferret-faced Q'zarnian, and another Delmar - a commoner of some sort."

 

"That's all? Wasn't there a boy with them as well?"

 

The spy shrugged.

 

"I didn't think the boy was important," he said.

 

"He's there then-in the palace?"

 

"He is, my Lord-- an ordinary Delmarvian boy of about fourteen, I'd judge. He seems to be some kind of servant to the woman."

 

"Very well. Go back to the palace and get close enough to that chamber to hear what the kings and the old man are saying."

 

"That may be very dangerous, my Lord."

 

"It'll be more dangerous if you don't. Now go, before that ape Amethyst comes back and finds you loitering here."

 

He whirled his horse and, followed by his two warriors, plunged back into the forest on the far side of the snowy track that wound among the dark trees.

 

The man in the green cloak sat grimly watching for a moment, then he too turned his horse and rode back the way he had come.

 

Steven rose from his crouched position behind the tree. His hands were clenched so tightly around the shaft of his spear that they actually ached. This had gone entirely too far, he decided. The matter must be brought to someone's attention.

 

And then, some way off in the snowy depths of the wood, he heard the sound of hunting horns and the steely clash of swords ringing rhythmically on shields. The huntsmen were coming, driving all the beasts of the forest before them.

 

He heard a crackling in the bushes, and a great stag bounded into view, his eyes wild with fright and his antlers flaring above his head. With three huge leaps he was gone. Steven trembled with excitement.

Then there was a squealing rush, and a red-eyed sow plunged down the trail followed by a half dozen scampering piglets. Steven stepped behind his tree and let them pass.

The next squeals were deeper and rang less with fright than with rage. It was the boar-Steven knew that before the beast even broke out of the heavy brush. When the boar appeared, Steven felt his heart quail.

This was no fat, sleepy porker, but rather a savage, infuriated beast. The horrid tusks jutting up past the flaring snout were yellow, and bits of twigs and bark clung to them, mute evidence that the boar would slash at anything in his path-trees, bushes or a Delmarvian boy without sense enough to get out of his way.

 

Then a peculiar thing happened. As in the long-ago fight with Pinto or in the scuffle with Myr's hirelings in the dark streets of Mavros, Steven felt his blood begin to surge, and there was a wild ringing in his ears. He seemed to hear a defiant, shouted challenge and could scarcely accept the fact that it came from his own throat. He suddenly realized that he was stepping into the middle of the trail and crouching with his spear braced and leveled at the massive beast.

 

The boar charged. Red-eyed and frothing from the mouth, with a deep-throated squeal of fury, he plunged at the waiting Steven. The powdery snow sprayed up from his churning hooves like foam from the prow of a ship.The snow crystals seemed to hang in the air, sparkling in a single ray of sunlight that chanced just there to reach the forest floor.

 

The shock as the boar hit the spear was frightful, but Steven's aim was good. The broad-bladed spearhead penetrated the coarsely haired chest, and the white froth dripping from the boar's tusks suddenly became bloody foam. Steven felt himself driven back by the impact, his feet slipping out from under him, and then the shaft of his spear snapped like a dry twig and the boar was on him.

 

The first slashing, upward-ripping blow of the boar's tusks took Steven full in the stomach, and he felt the wind whoosh out of his lungs. The second slash caught his hip as he tried to roll, gasping, out of the way. His chain-mail shirt deflected the tusks, saving him from being wounded, but the blows were stunning. The boar's third slash caught him in the back, and he was flung through the air and crashed into a tree. His eyes filled with shimmering light as his head banged against the rough bark.

 

And then Amethyst was there, roaring and charging through the snow, but somehow it seemed not to be Amethyst. Steven's eyes, glazed from the shock of the blow to his head, looked uncomprehendingly at something that could not be true.

 

It was Amethyst, there could be no doubt of that, but it was also something else. Oddly, as if somehow occupying the same space as Amethyst, there was also a huge, hideous panther, or puma of some sort. The images of the two figures crashing through the snow were superimposed, their movements identical as if in sharing the same space they also shared the same thoughts.

 

Huge arms grasped up the wriggling, mortally wounded boar and crushed in upon it. Bright blood fountained from the boar's mouth, and the shaggy, half-humanoid thing that seemed to be Amethyst and something else at the same time raised the dying pig and smashed it brutally to the ground.

 

The gem-thing lifted its awful face and roared in earthshaking triumph as the light slid away from Steven's eyes and he felt himself drifting down into the gray well of unconsciousness.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was no way of knowing how much time passed until he came to in the sleigh. V was applying a cloth filled with snow to the back of his neck as they flew across the glaring white fields toward Van Sangria.

 

"I see you've decided to live." V grinned at him.

 

"Where's Amethyst?" Steven mumbled groggily.

 

"In the sleigh behind us," V said, glancing back.

 

"Is she-- Is she all right?"

 

"What could hurt Amethyst?" V asked.

 

"I mean,does she seem like herself?"

 

"She seems like the same old Amy to me," V shrugged. "No, boy, lie still. That wild pig may have cracked your ribs." She delicately placed her hands on Steven's chest and gently held him down.

 

"My boar?" Steven demanded weakly. "Where is it?"

 

"The huntsmen are bringing it," V said. "You'll get your triumphal entry. If I might suggest it, however, you should give some thought to the virtue of constructive cowardice. These instincts of yours could shorten your life."

 

But Steven had already slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

And then they were in the palace, and Amethyst was carrying him, and Aunt Pearl was there, quaking almost violently with both her hands held to her mouth as she went ashen-faced.

 

"It's not his," Amethyst assured her quickly. "He speared a boar, and it bled on him while they were tussling. I think Steven's all right - a little rap on the head is all."

 

"Bring him," Aunt Pearl said curtly and led the way up the stairs toward Steven's room.

 

Later, with his head and chest wrapped and a foul-tasting cup of Aunt Pearl's brewing making him light-headed and sleepy, Steven lay in his bed listening as Aunt Pearl finally turned on Amethyst.

 

"Amethyst, I can’t believe you!" she raged. "Do you see what all your foolishness has done? Explain yourself this **_instant!_ ** "

 

"Steven was very, very brave," Amethyst said, her voice low and sunk in a kind of bleak melancholy.

 

"Brave? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?" Aunt Pearl snapped.

 

Then she stopped.

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded. She reached out suddenly and put her hands on the sides of the huge gem's head. She looked for a moment into her eyes and then slowly released her.

 

"Oh," she said softly, "it finally happened, I see."

 

Amethyst, her tears flowing freely now, glowed brightly as her hulking form gave way to her natural diminiutive state. She curled up by the hearth, trying desperately to keep her chest from heaving with the force of her sobs. Aunt Pearl hurried over to her side and, much to Steven’s surprise, wrapped her arms in an almost sisterly way around Amethyst’s quaking form.

 

“I couldn't control it, Pearl," Amethyst said in misery. “It’s like I shapeshifted when I didn’t want to. I felt it in the depths of my gem, the surge as my form changed into this… this **_thing_ ** . **_I felt it_ ** as my mind slipped away as I was changing into it. I felt… I felt… Oh **_stars…_ ** ” she cried as her sobs doubled back with renewed force.

 

"It'll be all right, Amethyst," she said, gently touching her bowed head.

 

“Am I **_doomed_ ** , Pearl? Am I defective? **_Corrupted?_ ** ”

 

“No, no no no, Amethyst,” Pearl replied. “This is part of who you are. It was foretold that **_you_ ** would be his protector. **_This_ ** is your burden, Amethyst. It’s a gift, not a curse.”

 

"Sure feels like a curse," Amethyst muttered into her knees.

 

"Get some sleep," she told her. "It won't seem so bad in the morning."

 

With that, Aunt Pearl helped her to her feet, and, with an arm about her shoulders, helped her quietly out of the room.

 

Steven knew they were talking about the strange thing he had seen when Amethyst had rescued him from the boar, and he wanted to ask Aunt Pearl about it; but the bitter drink she had given him pulled him down into a deep and dreamless sleep before he could put the words together to ask the question.

 

 


	28. Watchers In The Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven, bored, injured and alone, decides to go exploring the palace now that everyone's resumed their duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I've decided to deepen the intrigue.

**THE NEXT DAY** Steven was too stiff and sore to even think about getting out of bed. A stream of visitors, however, kept him too occupied to think about his aches and pains. The visits from the Sangrian Kings in their splendid robes were particularly flattering, and each of them praised his courage. 

 

Then the queens came and made a great fuss over his injuries, offering warm sympathy and gentle, stroking touches to his forehead. The combination of praise, sympathy and the certain knowledge that he was the absolute center of attention was overwhelming, and his heart was full.

 

The last visitor of the day, however, was Mister Wolf, who came when evening was creeping through the snowy streets of Van Sangria. The old man wore his usual tunic and cloak, and his hood was turned up as if he had been outside.

 

"Have you seen my boar, Mister Wolf?" Steven asked proudly.

 

"An excellent animal," Wolf said, though without much enthusiasm, "but didn't anyone tell you it's customary to jump out of the way after the boar has been speared?"

 

"I didn't really think about it," Steven admitted, "but wouldn't that seem - well - cowardly?"

 

"Were you that concerned about what a pig might think of you?"

 

"Well," Steven faltered, "not really, I guess."

 

"You're developing an amazing lack of good sense for one so young," Wolf observed. "It normally takes years and years to reach the point you seem to have arrived at overnight." 

 

He turned to Aunt Pearl, who sat nearby. 

 

"Polina, are you quite certain that there's no hint of Flaxen blood in our Steven's background? He's been behaving most Flaxen-like lately. First he rides the Great Maelstrom like a rocking horse, and then he tries to break a wild boar's tusks with his ribs. Are you sure you didn't drop him on his head when he was a baby?"

 

Aunt Pearl smiled, but said nothing.

 

"I hope you recover soon, Shtu-roll," Wolf said, "and try to give some thought to what I've said."

 

Steven sulked, mortally offended by Mister Wolf's words. Tears welled up in his eyes despite all his efforts to control them.

 

"Thank you for stopping by, Greg," Aunt Pearl said.

 

"It's always a pleasure to call on you, my daughter," Wolf said and quietly left the room.

 

 

 

"Why did he have to talk to me like that?" Steven burst out, wiping his nose. "Now he's gone and spoiled it all."

 

"Spoiled what, dear?" Aunt Pearl asked, smoothing the front of her gray dress.

 

"All of it," Steven complained. "The kings all said I was very brave."

 

"Kings say things like that," Aunt Pearl said. "I wouldn't pay too much attention, if I were you."

 

"I was brave, wasn't I?"

 

"I'm sure you were, dear," she said. "And I'm sure the pig was very impressed."

 

"You're as bad as Mister Wolf is," Steven accused.

 

"Yes, dear," she said, "I suppose I probably am, but that's only natural. Now, what would you like for supper?"

 

"I'm not hungry," Steven said defiantly.

 

"Really? You probably need a tonic then. I'll fix you one."

 

"I think I've changed my mind," Steven said quickly.

 

"I rather thought you might," Aunt Pearl said. 

 

And then, without explanation, she suddenly put her arms around him and held him close to her for a long time. "What  **_am_ ** I going to do with you?" she said finally.

 

"I'm all right, Aunt Pearl," he assured her.

 

"This time perhaps," she said, taking his face between her hands. "It's a splendid thing to be brave, my Steven, but try once in a while to think a little bit first. Promise me."

 

"All right, Aunt Pearl," he said, a little embarrassed by all this. 

 

Oddly enough she still acted as if she really cared about him. The idea that there could still be a bond between them even if they were not related began to dawn on him. It could never be the same, of course, but at least it was something. He began to feel a little better about the whole thing.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The next day he was able to get up. His muscles still ached a bit, and his ribs were somewhat tender, but he was young and was healing fast. About midmorning he was sitting with Bismuth in the great hall of Thur-Man's palace when the silvery-bearded Earl of Selyse approached them.

 

"King Dewey wonders if you would be so kind as to join us in the council chamber, Goodman Bismuth," he said politely.

 

"Me, your Honor?" Bismuth asked incredulously.

"His Majesty is most impressed with your sensibility," the old gentleman said. "He feels that you represent the very best of Delmarvian practicality. What we face involves all men, not just the Kings of the West, and so it's only proper that good, solid common sense be represented in our proceedings."

 

"I'll come at once, your Honor," Bismuth said, getting up quickly, "but you'll have to forgive me if I say very little."

 

Steven waited expectantly.

 

"We've all heard of your adventure, my boy," the Earl of Selyse said pleasantly to Steven. "Ah, to be young again," he sighed. "Coming, Bismuth?"

 

"Immediately, your Honor," Bismuth said, and the two of them made their way out of the great hall toward the council chamber.

 

Steven sat alone, wounded to the quick by his exclusion. 

 

He was at an age where his self esteem was very tender, and inwardly he writhed at the lack of regard implicit in his not being invited to join them. Hurt and offended, he sulkily left the great hall and went to visit his boar which hung in an ice-filled cooling room just oti the kitchen. At least the boar had taken him seriously.

 

One could, however, spend only so much time in the company of a dead pig without becoming depressed. The boar did not seem nearly so big as he had when he was alive and charging, and the tusks were impressive but neither so long nor so sharp as Steven remembered them. Besides, it was cold in the cooling room and sore muscles stiffened quickly in chilly places.

 

There was no point in trying to visit Amethyst. The purple-skinned gem had locked herself in her chamber to brood in blackest melancholy and refused to answer her door, even to her sister. And so Steven, left entirely on his own, moped about for a while and then decided that he might as well explore this vast palace with its dusty, unused chambers and dark, twisting corridors. 

 

He walked for what seemed hours, opening doors and following hallways that sometimes ended abruptly against blank stone walls.

 

The palace of Thur-Man was enormous, having been, as Amethyst had explained, some three thousand years and more in construction. One southern wing was so totally abandoned that its entire roof had fallen in centuries ago. 

 

Steven wandered there for a time in the second-floor corridors of the ruin, his mind filled with gloomy thoughts of mortality and transient glory as he looked into rooms where snow lay thickly on ancient beds and stools and the tiny tracks of mice and squirrels ran everywhere. 

 

And then he came to an unroofed corridor where there were other tracks, those of a man. The footprints were quite fresh, for there was no sign of snow in them and it had snowed heavily the night before. At first he thought the tracks might be his own and that he had somehow circled and come back to a corridor he had already explored, but the footprints were much larger than his.

There were a dozen possible explanations, of course, but Steven felt his breath quicken. The man in the green cloak was still lurking about the palace, Rohk-Nal-Do the Isyaki was somewhere in Van Sangria, and the amber-haired nobleman was hiding somewhere in the forest with obviously unfriendly intentions.

 

Steven realized that the situation might be dangerous and that he was unarmed except for his small dagger. He retraced his steps quickly to a snowy chamber he had just explored and took down a rusty sword from a peg where it had hung forgotten for uncountable years. Then, feeling a bit more secure, he returned to follow the silent tracks.

 

So long as the path of the unknown intruder lay in that roofless and long-abandoned corridor, following him was simplicity itself; the undisturbed snow made tracking easy. But once the trail led over a heap of fallen debris and into the gaping blackness of a dusty corridor where the roof was still intact, things became a bit more difficult. The dust on the floor helped, but it was necessary to do a great deal of stooping and bending over. Steven's ribs and legs were still sore, and he winced and grunted each time he had to bend down to examine the stone floor. In a very short while he was sweating and gritting his teeth and thinking about giving the whole thing up.

 

Then he heard a faint sound far down the corridor ahead. He shrank back against the wall, hoping that no light from behind him would filter dimly through to allow him to be seen. 

 

Far ahead, a figure passed stealthily through the pale light from a single tiny window. Steven caught a momentary flicker of green and knew finally whom he was following. He kept close to the wall and moved with catlike silence in his soft leather shoes, the rusty sword gripped tightly in his hand. If it had not been for the startling nearness of the voice of the Earl of Selyse, however, he would probably have walked directly into the man he had been following.

 

"Is it at all possible, noble Gregarion, that our enemy can be awakened before all the conditions of the ancient prophecy are met?" the earl was asking.

 

Steven stopped. Directly ahead of him in a narrow embrasure in the wall of the corridor, he caught sight of a slight movement. The green cloaked man lurked there, listening in the dimness to the words that seemed to come from somewhere beneath. Steven shrank back against the wall, scarcely daring to breathe. Carefully he stepped backward until he found another embrasure and drew himself into the concealing darkness.

 

"A most appropriate question, Gregarion," the quiet voice of Evan of the Ainur said. "Can this Renegade use the power now in his hands to revive the Accursed One?"

 

"The power is there," the familiar voice of Mister Wolf said, "but he might be afraid to use it. If it isn't done properly, the power will destroy him. He won't rush into such an act, but will think very carefully before he tries it. It's that hesitation that gives us the little bit of time we have."

 

Then V spoke. "Didn't you say that he might want the thing for himself? Maybe he plans to leave his Master in undisturbed slumber and use the power he's stolen to raise himself as king in the lands of the Alabastians."

 

King Vladimar of Q'zarnia chuckled. "Somehow I don't see the Marikeen Priesthood so easily relinquishing their power in the lands of Alabastian and bowing down to an outsider. The High Priest of the Marikeen is no humble sorcerer himself, I'm told."

 

"Forgive me, Vladimar," King Thur-Man said, "but if the power is in the thief's hands, the Marikeen won't have any choice but to accept his dominion. I've studied the power of this thing, and if even half of what I've read is true, he can use it to rip down Fy-Sivu as easily as you'd kick apart an anthill. Then, if they still resist, he could depopulate all of Sivu-Isyak from Fiysak to the Shwarean border. No matter what, however, whether it's the Renegade or, Diamonds forbid, the Accursed One who eventually raises that power, the Alabastians will follow and they will come west."

 

"Shouldn't we inform the Flaxen and Shwar-and the Phenai as well-what has happened then?" Ophidian, the Hroden Warder, asked. "Let's not be taken by surprise again."

 

"I wouldn't be in too much hurry to rouse our southern neighbors," Mister Wolf said. "When Pearl and I leave here, we'll be moving south. If Flaxia and Shwar are mobilizing for war, the general turmoil would only hinder us. The Emperor's legions are soldiers. They can respond quickly when the need arises, and the Flaxen are always ready for war. The whole kingdom hovers on the brink of general warfare all the time."

 

"It's premature," Aunt Pearl's familiar voice agreed. "Armies would just get in the way of what we're trying to do. If we can apprehend my father's old pupil and return the thing he pilfered to Hrodenheim, the crisis will be past. Let's not stir up the southerners for nothing."

 

"She's right," Wolf said. "There's always a risk in a mobilization. A king with an army on his hands often begins to think of mischief. I'll advise the King of the Flax at I’chir Gelar and the Empire at Tol Maheshwar of as much as they need to know as I pass through. But we should get word through to the Phenom of Phenaidians. Evan, do you think you could get a messenger through to Diophe at this time of the year?"

 

"It's hard to say, Ancient One," Evan said. "The passes into those mountains are difficult in the winter. I'll try, though."

 

"Good," Wolf said. "Beyond that, there's not much more we can do. For the time being it might not be a bad idea to keep this matter in the family-- so to speak. If worse comes to worst and the Alabastians invade again, Sangria at least will be armed and ready. There'll be time for Flaxia and the Empire to make their preparations."

 

King Dewey spoke then in a troubled voice. "It's easy for the Sangrian Kings to talk of war," he said. "Sangrians are warriors; but my Delmarvia is a peaceful kingdom. We don't have castles or fortified keeps, and my people are farmers and tradesmen. Black Diamond made a mistake when she chose the battlefield at I’chir Gelar; and it's not likely that the Alabastians will make the same mistake again. I think they'll strike directly across the grasslands of northern Aine and fall upon Delmarvia. We have a lot of food and very few soldiers. Our country would provide an ideal base for a campaign in the west, and I'm afraid that we'd fall quite easily."

 

Then, to Steven's amazement, Bismuth spoke. 

 

"Don't cheapen the men of Delmarvia so, Lord King," he said in a firm voice. "I know my neighbors, and they'll fight. We don't know very much about swords and lances, but we'll fight. If Alabastians come to Delmarvia, they won't find the taking as easy as some might imagine, and if we put torches to the fields and storehouses there won't be all that much food for them to eat."

 

There was a long silence, and then Dewey spoke again in a voice strangely humble. 

 

"Your words shame me, Goodman Bismuth," he said. "Maybe I've been king for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be a Delmar."

 

"One remembers that there are only a few passes leading through the western escarpment into Delmarvia," Ruby, the daughter of King Evan, said quietly. "A few avalanches in the right places could make Delmarvia as inaccessible as the moon. If the avalanches took place at the right times, whole armies of Alabastians might find themselves trapped in those narrow corridors."

 

"Now that's an entertaining thought." V chuckled evilly. "Then we could let Bismuth put his incendiary impulses to a better use than burning turnip patches. Since old One-eye seems to enjoy the smell of burning sacrifices so much, we might be able to accommodate her."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Far down the dusty passageway in which he was hiding, Steven caught the sudden flicker of a torch and heard the faint jingling of several mail shirts. He almost failed to recognize the danger until the last instant. 

 

The man in the green cloak also heard the sounds and saw the light of the torch. He stepped from his hiding place and fled back the way he had come-directly past the embrasure where Steven had concealed himself. Steven shrank back, clutching his rusty sword; but as luck had it, the man was looking back over his shoulder at the twinkling torch as he ran by on soft feet.

 

As soon as he had passed, Steven also slipped out of his hiding place and fled. The Wy-Ate warriors were looking for intruders, and it might be difficult to explain what he was doing in the dark hallway. He briefly considered following the spy again, but decided that he'd had enough of that for one day. 

 

It was time to tell someone about the things he'd seen. Someone had to be told-- someone to whom the kings would listen. 

 

Once he reached the more frequented corridors of the palace, he firmly began to make his way toward the chamber where Amethyst brooded in silent melancholy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And maybe if I've got the energy, I won't make y'all wait until tomorrow for the next chapter.


	29. Phantoms In The Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven turns to the only other person he can trust to tell about what he saw, and he learns that even in the heart of friendly territory, safety can be a tenuous thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some action to be had here. It seems that I had the energy to churn out two chapters in a day, whaddaya know.
> 
> Damn I'll be so tired in the morning, but I don't care. I'm proud of this chapter and I hope it satisfies you too, my dear reader.

**"AMETHYST," STEVEN CALLED** through the door after he had knocked for several minutes without any answer.

 

"Go away," Amethyst's voice came thickly through the door.

 

"Amethyst, it's me, Steven. I have to talk with you."

 

There was a long silence inside the room, and finally a slow movement. Then the door opened.

 

Amethyst's appearance was shocking. Her tunic was rumpled and stained. She had not changed from her natural form in the time since they were apart, and her long, lilac hair, usually lustrous and lush, was frazzled and unkempt and tangled at the ends.

 

The haunted look in her eyes, however, was the worst. The look was a mixture of horror and self loathing so naked that Steven was forced to avert his eyes.

 

"You saw it, didn't you, Steven?" Amethyst demanded. "You saw what happened to me out there."

 

"I didn't really see anything," Steven said carefully. "I hit my head on that tree, and all I really saw were stars."

 

"You must have seen it," Amethyst insisted. "You must have seen my Doom."

 

"Doom?" Steven said. "What are you talking about? You're still alive."

 

"A Doom doesn't always mean death, Steven," Amethyst said morosely, flinging herself into a large chair. "I wish mine did. A Doom is some terrible thing that's fated to happen to a person, and death's not the worst thing there is."

 

"You've just let the words of that crazy old blind woman take over your imagination," Steven said.

 

"It's not only Marina," Amethyst said. "She's just repeating what everybody in Wy-Ate knows. An augurer was called in when I was adopted by my cousin Thur-Man - it is the custom here. Most of the time the auguries don't show anything at all, and nothing special is going to happen during the man's life. But sometimes the future lies so heavily on one of us that almost anyone can see the Doom."

 

"That's just superstition," Steven scoffed. "I've never seen any fortune-teller who could even tell for sure if it's going to rain tomorrow. One of them came to Alger's farm once and told Bismuth that he was going to die twice. Isn't that silly?"

 

"The augurers and soothsayers of Wy-Ate have more skill," Amethyst said, her face still sunk in melancholy. "The Doom they saw for me was always the same - I'm going to turn into a beast. I've had dozens of them tell me the same thing. And now it's happened. I've been sitting here for two days now, watching. The hair on my body's getting longer, and my teeth are starting to get pointed."

 

“Maybe you’re just shapeshifting without even knowing it," Steven said. “Though, you look exactly the same as you always have to me."

"Heh, that’s kind of you, Steven," Amethyst said. "I know you're just trying to make me feel better, but I've got eyes of my own. I know that my teeth are getting pointed and my body's starting to grow fur when I don’t want to. It won't be long until I corrupt entirely and Thur-Man has to chain me up in his dungeon so I won't be able to hurt anyone, or I'll have to run off into the caves and live with the trolls.”

 

"Nonsense," Steven insisted.

 

"Tell me what you saw the other day," Amethyst pleaded. "What did I look like when I changed into a beast?"

 

"All I saw were stars from banging my head on that tree," Steven said again, trying to make it sound true.

 

"I just want to know what kind of beast I'm turning into," Amethyst pleaded, her voice thick with self pity. "Am I going to be a wolf or a bear or some kind of monster no one even has a name for?"

 

"Don't you remember anything at all about what happened?" Steven asked carefully, trying to blot the strange double image of Amethyst and the puma out of his memory.

 

"Nothing," Amethyst said. "I heard you shouting, and the next thing I remember was the boar lying dead at my feet and you lying under that tree with his blood all over you. I could feel the beast in me, though. I could even smell him."

 

"All you smelled was the boar," Steven said, "and all that happened was that you lost your head in all the excitement."

 

"Berserk, you mean?" Amethyst said, looking up hopefully. Then he shook his head. "No, Steven. I've been berserk before. It doesn't feel at all the same. This was completely different." She sighed.

 

"You're not turning into a beast," Steven insisted.

 

"I know what I know," Amethyst said stubbornly.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

And then Lady Carnelian, Amethyst's sister, stepped into the room through the still-open door. Upon seeing her regular form, she gave a low cry and hurried to her side.

 

"Amy," she exclaimed. “What’s wrong sis? Why’d you change back into this?”

 

"Leave me alone, Carny," Amethyst said. "I'm not in the mood for talking."

 

"What?" she said quizzically. "Okay, this is bad. You’re **_never not_ ** in the mood for talking. You quit stalling and tell me what’s wrong, **_right now._ ** ”

 

"This isn’t the kind of thing I can just **_talk_ ** about," Amethyst said. "Just go away and leave me alone."

 

"I thought we made a promise to each other," she said. "As soon as we popped out of our holes, that we’d stick together always, and that means no distance between us. And **_no secrets._ ** "

 

"I know," Amethyst said, hushing slightly. "And I'm sorry. I just can’t. Not to you, or to anyone."

There was a pause that hung in the air after that, as the warm air of concern that effused from Carnelian suddenly turned frosty.

 

“You’d talk to Steven though.” she said icily.

 

"That’s because he was there when it happened!" Amethyst shot back.

 

" **_AHA!_ ** So something **_DID_ ** happen!" she half-shouted. “What was it Amy? Tell me! Or I’ll go to Steven’s room in the dead of night and I’ll shake it out of him!”

 

" **YOU’LL DO NO SUCH THING!** " Amethyst roared in response.

 

Steven observed the exchange between the gem sisters with growing amusement. A part of him wondered how they’d have stayed together this long if they were constantly quarreling like this. Though mostly he wondered how they could have lived for centuries and still be so childish.

 

"Why do you even wanna know so badly?" Amethyst asked in exasperation. "You hate hearing bad news, and I hate hearing you cry. At least this way, I’m saving us half the trouble!"

 

"I can’t help how I’ll react to hearing what happened to my favourite sister.” Carnelian said. “And I want to know because that’s what families do! We’re **_there_ ** for each other when no one else is.”

 

 

"Amethyst," Steven said uncomfortably, "I have to talk to you."

 

"Not now, Steven," Amethyst snapped.

 

"It's important. There's a spy in the palace."

 

"Steve-o, what did I just sa-- wait, did you say **_spy?_ ** ”

 

"A man in a green cloak," Steven said, nodding.  "I've seen him several times."

 

"Many men wear green cloaks," Lady Carnelian said.

 

"Hold on, C," Amethyst said. He turned to Steven. "What makes you think he's a spy?"

 

"I saw him again this morning," Steven said, "and I followed him. He was sneaking along a corridor that nobody seems to use. It passes above the hall where the kings are meeting with Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl. He could hear every word they said."

 

"How do you know what he could hear?" Carnelian asked, her eyes narrowing.

 

"I was up there too," Steven said. "I hid not far from him, and I could hear them myself - almost as if I were in the same room with them."

 

"What does he look like?" Amethyst asked.

 

"He has sandy-colored hair," Steven said, "and a beard and, as I said, he wears a green cloak. I saw him the day we went down to look at your ship. He was going into a tavern with an Isyaki."

 

"There aren't any Isyaki in Van Sangria," Carnelian said.

 

"There's one," Steven said. "I've seen him before. I know who he is." He had to move around the subject carefully. The compulsion not to speak about his dark-robed enemy was as strong as always. Even the hint he had given made his tongue seem stiff and his lips numb.

 

"Who is he?" Amethyst demanded.

 

Steven ignored the question. "And then on the day of the boar hunt I saw him in the forest."

 

"The Isyaki?" Amethyst asked.

 

"No. The man in the green cloak. He met some other men there. They talked for a while not far from where I was waiting for the boar to come. They didn't see me."

 

"There's nothing suspicious about that," Amethyst said. "A man can meet with his friends anywhere he likes."

 

"I don't think they were friends exactly," Steven said. "The one in the green cloak called one of the other men 'my Lord,' and that one was giving him orders to get close enough so that he could hear what Mister Wolf and the kings were saying."

 

"That's more serious," Amethyst said, seeming to forget her melancholy all of a sudden. "Did they say anything else?"

 

"The amber-haired man wanted to know about us," Steven said. "You, me, Bismuth, V - all of us."

 

"Amber-colored hair?" Carnelian asked quickly.

 

"The one he called 'my Lord,' " Steven explained. "He seemed to know about us. He even knew about me."

 

"Long, pale-colored hair?" Merel demanded. "No beard? A little older than Amethyst?"

 

“Yes! Exactly!” Steven confirmed.

 

"It couldn't be him," Amethyst said, casting a worried, sidelong glance at her sister. "Thur-Man banished him on pain of death."

 

"Urgh, you’re so dense, Amethyst," she said. "He'd ignore that if it suited him. I think we'd better tell Thur-Man about this."

 

"Do you know him?" Steven asked. "Some of the things he said about Amethyst weren't very polite."

"I can imagine," Carnelian said with open contempt. "Amethyst was one of those who said that he ought to have his head removed."

 

Amethyst, her hulking form returned, had already started donning her mail shirt.

 

"Fix your hair," Carnelian told her. "You look like a haystack."

 

"I can't stop to fix it now," Amethyst said impatiently. "Come along, both of you. We'll have to see Thur-Man **_NOW_ **."

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

There was no time for any further questions, since Steven and Carnelian almost had to run to keep up with Amethyst. They swept through the great hall, and startled warriors scrambled out of their way after one look at Amethyst's face.

 

"My Lord Amethyst," one of the guards at the door of the council hall greeted the huge man.

 

"One side," Amethyst commanded and flung open the door with a crash. King Thur-Man looked up, startled at the sudden interruption.

 

"Welcome, cousin," he began.

 

"Treason, Thur-Man!" Amethyst roared. "The Earl of Jar-Vis has broken his banishment and set spies on you in your own palace."

 

"Jar-Vis?" Thur-Man said. "He wouldn't dare."

 

"He dared, all right," Amethyst said. "He's been seen not far from Van Sangria, and some of his plotting has been overheard."

 

"Who is this Jar-Vis?" the Hroden Warder asked.

 

"An earl I banished last year," Thur-Man said. "One of his men was stopped, and we found a message on him. The message was to an Isyaki in Delmarvia, and it gave the details of one of our most secret councils. Jar-Vis tried to deny that the message was his, even though it had his own seal on it and his strongroom bulged with red gold from the mines of Sivu-Isyak. I'd have had his head on a pole, but his wife's a kinswoman of mine and she begged for his life. I banished him to one of his estates on the west coast instead."

 

He looked at Amethyst. "How did you find out about this?" he asked. "Last I heard, you'd locked yourself in your room and wouldn't talk to anybody."

 

"My sister's words are true, Thur-Man," Lady Carnelian said in a voice that rang with challenge.

 

"I don't doubt her, Carnelia," Thur-Man said, looking at her with a faintly surprised expression. "I just wanted to know how he learned about Jar-Vis, that's all."

"This boy from Delmarvia saw him," Merel said, "and heard him talk to his spy. I heard the boy's story myself, and I stand behind what my sister said, if anyone here dares to doubt her."

 

"Steven?" Aunt Pearl said, startled.

 

"May I suggest that we hear from the lad?" Evan of the Ainur said quietly. "A nobleman with a history of friendship for the Isyaki who chooses this exact moment to break his banishment concerns us all, I think."

 

"Tell them what you told Carny and me, Steven," Amethyst ordered, pushing Steven forward.

 

"Your Majesty," Steven said, bowing awkwardly, "I've seen a man in a green cloak hiding here in your palace several times since we came here. He creeps along the passageways and takes a lot of trouble not to be seen. I saw him the first night we were here, and the next day I saw him going into a tavern in the city with an Isyaki. Amethyst says there aren't any Isyaki in Wy-Ate, but I know that the man he was with was a Isyaki."

 

"How do you know?" Thur-Man asked shrewdly.

 

Steven looked at him helplessly, unable to say Rohk-Nal-Do's name.

 

"Well, boy?" King Vladimar asked.

 

Steven struggled with the words, but nothing would come out.

 

Vidalia, sensing a connection, spoke up. "Maybe you know this Isyaki?" V suggested.

 

Steven nodded, relieved that someone could help him.

 

"You wouldn't know many Isyaki," V said, rubbing her nose with one finger. "Was it the one we met in Wollock, perhaps - and later in Mavros? The one known as Rohk-Nal-Do?"

 

Steven nodded again.

 

"Why didn't you tell us?" Amethyst asked.

 

"I - I couldn't," Steven stammered.

 

"Couldn't?"

 

"The words wouldn't come out," Steven said. "I don't know why, but I've never been able to talk about him."

 

"Then you've seen him before?" V said.

 

"Yes," Steven said.

 

"And you've never told anybody?"

 

"No."

 

V glanced quickly at Aunt Pearl. Her expression had gone dark, as if she was deep in thought.

 

"Is this the sort of thing you might know more about than we would, Lady Polina?" she asked.

 

She nodded slowly. "It's possible to do it," she said. "It's never been very reliable, so I don't bother with it myself. It is possible, however." Her expression grew grim.

 

"The Marikeen think it's impressive," Mister Wolf spat. "Mareks are easily impressed."

 

"Come with me, Steven," Aunt Pearl said.

 

"Not yet," Wolf said.

 

"This is important," she said, her face hardening.

 

"You can do it later," he said. "Let's hear the rest of his story first. The damage has already been done. Go ahead, Steven. What else did you see?"

 

 

 

Steven took a deep breath. "All right," he said, relieved to be talking to the old man instead of the kings.

 

"I saw the man in the green cloak again that day we all went hunting. He met in the forest with a yellow-haired man who doesn't wear a beard. They talked for a while, and I could hear what they were saying. The yellow-haired man wanted to know what all of you were saying in this hall."

 

"You should have come to me immediately," King Thur-Man interjected.

 

"Anyway," Steven went on, "I had that fight with the wild boar. I hit my head against a tree and was stunned. I didn't remember what I'd seen until this morning. After King Dewey called Bismuth here, I went exploring. I was in a part of the palace where the roof is all fallen in, and I found some footprints. I followed them, and then after a while I saw the man in the green cloak again. That was when I remembered all this. I followed him, and he went along a corridor that passes somewhere over the top of this hall. He hid up there and listened to what you were saying."

 

"How much do you think he could hear, Steven?" King Evan asked.

 

"You were talking about somebody called the Renegade," Steven said, "and you were wondering if he could use some power of some kind to awaken an enemy who's been asleep for a long time. Some of you thought you ought to warn the Flax and the Shwar, but Mister Wolf didn't think so. And Bismuth talked about how the men of Delmarvia would fight if the Alabastians came."

 

They appeared startled.

 

"I was hiding not far from the man in the green cloak," Steven said. "I'm sure he could hear everything that I could. Then some soldiers came, and the man ran away. That's when I decided that I ought to tell Amethyst about all this."

 

"Up there," V said, moving to stand near one of the walls and pointing at a corner of the ceiling of the hall. "The mortar's crumbled away. The sound of our voices carries right up through the cracks between the stones into the upper corridor."

 

"This is a valuable boy you've brought with you, Lady Polina," King Vladimar said gravely. "If he's looking for a profession, I think I might find a place for him. Gathering information is a rewarding occupation, and he seems to have certain natural gifts along those lines."

 

"He has some other gifts as well," Aunt Pearl said. "He seems to be very good at turning up in places where he's not supposed to be."

 

"Don't be too hard on the boy, Polina," King Thur-Man said. "He's done us a service that we may never be able to repay."

 

Steven bowed again and retreated from Aunt Pearl's steady gaze.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Cousin," Thur-Man said then to Amethyst, "it seems that we have an unwelcome visitor somewhere in the palace. I think I'd like to have a little talk with this lurker in the green cloak."

 

"Oh, so do I, T-Man. I’m thinkin’ I’ll be taking a few of those men of yours," Amethyst said grimly. "We'll turn your palace upside down and shake it and see what falls out."

 

"I'd like to have him more or less intact," Thur-Man cautioned.

 

"Of course," Amethyst said.

 

"Not too intact, however. As long as he's still able to talk, he'll serve our purposes."

 

Amethyst grinned. "I'll make sure that he's talkative when I bring him to you, cuz," she said.

 

A bleak answering grin touched Thur-Man's face, and Amethyst started toward the door.

 

 

Then Thur-Man turned to Amethyst's sister. "I'd like to thank you also, Lady Carnelia," he said. "I'm sure you had a significant part in bringing this to us."

 

"It’s Carnelian, your Majesty," she said. "And I was just doing my duty, your Majesty."

 

Thur-Man sighed. "Must it always be duty, Carnelian?" he asked sadly.

 

"What else is there?" she asked.

 

"A very great deal, actually," the king said, "but you're going to have to find that out for yourself."

 

"Steven," Aunt Pearl said, "come here."

 

"Yes, ma'am," Steven said and went to her a little nervously.

 

"Don't be silly, dear," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you." She put her fingertips lightly to his forehead.

 

"Well?" Mister Wolf asked.

 

"It's there," she said. "It's very light, or I'd have noticed it before. I'm sorry, Father."

 

"Let's see," Wolf said. He came over and also touched Steven's heart with his hand. "It's not serious," he said.

 

"It could have been," Aunt Pearl said. "And it was my responsibility to see that something like this didn't happen."

 

"Don't flog yourself about it, Pearl," Wolf said. "That's very unbecoming. Just get rid of it."

 

"What's the matter?" Steven asked, alarmed.

 

"It's nothing to worry about, dear," Aunt Pearl said. She took his right hand and touched it for a moment to the white lock at her brow. Steven felt a surge, a welter of confused impressions, and then a tingling wrench behind his ears. A sudden dizziness swept over him, and he would have fallen if Aunt Pearl had not caught him.

 

"Who is the Isyaki?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

 

"His name is Rohk-Nal-Do," Steven said promptly.

 

"How long have you known him?"

 

"All my life. He used to come to Alger's farm and watch me when I was little."

 

"That's enough for now, Pearl," Mister Wolf said. "Let him rest a little first. I'll fix something to keep it from happening again."

 

 

"Is the boy ill?" King Evan asked, with a hint of worry.

 

"It's not exactly an illness, Evan," Mister Wolf said. "It's a little hard to explain. It's cleared up now, though."

 

"I want you to go to your room, Steven," Aunt Pearl said, still holding him by the shoulders. "Are you steady enough on your feet to get there by yourself?"

 

"I'm all right," he said, still feeling a little light-headed.

 

"No side trips and no more exploring," she said firmly.

 

"No, ma'am."

 

"When you get there, lie down. I want you to think back and remember every single time you've seen this Isyaki - what he did, what he said."

 

"He never spoke to me," Steven said. "He just watched."

 

"I'll be along in a little while," she went on, "and I'll want you to tell me everything you know about him. It's important, Steven, so concentrate as hard as you can."

 

"All right, Aunt Pearl," he said.

 

Then she kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Run along now, dear," she said.

 

Feeling strangely light-headed, Steven went to the door and out into the corridor.

 

He passed through the great hall where Thur-Man's warriors were belting on swords and picking up vicious-looking battle-axes in preparation for the search of the palace. Still bemused, he went through without stopping.

 

Part of his mind seemed half asleep, but that secret, inner part was wide awake. The dry voice observed that something significant had just happened. The powerful compulsion not to speak about Rohk was obviously gone. Aunt Pearl had somehow pulled it out of his mind entirely. His feeling about that was oddly ambiguous. That strange relationship between himself and dark-robed, silent Rohk had always been intensely private, and now it was gone. He felt vaguely empty and somehow violated. He sighed and went up the broad stairway toward his room.

 

There were a half dozen warriors in the hallway outside his room, probably part of Amethyst's search for the man in the green cloak. Steven stopped. Something was wrong, and he shook off his half daze.

 

This part of the palace was much too populated to make it very likely that the spy would be hiding here. His heart began racing, and step by step he began to back away toward the top of the stairs he had just climbed. The warriors looked like any other Wy-Atians in the palace-bearded, dressed in helmets, mail shirts, and furs, but something didn't seem exactly right.

 

A bulky man in a dark, hooded cloak stepped through the doorway of Steven's room into the corridor. It was Rohk. The Isyaki was about to say something, but then his eyes fell on Steven.

 

"Ah," he said softly. His dark eyes gleamed in his scarred face. "I've been looking for you, Steven," he said, a cruel, sinister smile forming on his face. "Come here, boy."

 

Steven felt a tentative tug at his mind that seemed to slip away as if it somehow could not get a sure grip. He shook his head mutely and continued to back away.

 

"Come along now," Rohk said. "We've known each other far too long for this. Do as I say. You know that you must."

 

The tug became a powerful grasp that again slipped away. "Come here, Steven!" Rohk-Nal-Do commanded harshly.

 

Steven kept backing away, step by step.

 

"No," he said. Rohk's eyes blazed, and he drew himself up angrily.

 

This time it was not a tug or a grasp, but a blow. Steven could feel the force of it even as it seemed somehow to miss or be deflected.

 

Rohk's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. "Who did this?" he demanded. "Polina? Gregarion? It won't do any good, Steven. I had you once, and I can take you again any time I want to. You're not strong enough to refuse me."

 

Steven looked at his enemy and answered out of some need for defiance. "Maybe I'm not," he said, "but I think you'll have to catch me first."

 

Rohk turned quickly to his warriors. "That's the boy I want," he barked sharply. "Take him!"

 

Smoothly, almost as if it were done without thought, one of the warriors raised his bow and leveled an arrow directly at Steven. Rohk swung his arm quickly and knocked the bow aside just as the steel-pointed shaft was loosed.

 

The arrow sang in the air and clattered against the stones of the wall a few feet to Steven's left.

 

" **Alive** , **_idiot_ ** ," Rohk snarled and struck the bowman a crushing blow to the side of the head. The bowman fell twitching to the stone floor.

 

Steven spun, dashed back to the stairs and plunged down three steps at a time. He didn't bother to look back. The sound of heavy feet told him that Rohk and his men were after him.

 

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned sharply to the left and fled down a long, dark passageway that led back into the maze of Thur-Man's palace. His heart beating like a frightened bird in a cage, he ran for all he was worth. It was like he was in one of his tortured nightmares back on Alger’s Farm, except this time, it was all too real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chase is on!
> 
> But which cat will find our little mouse first? Cast your bets, people!


	30. Hidden In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven realises the tacit importance of his presence at the palace as he is pursued by the ghosts of his past. Between that and some more eavesdropping, he finds that he might not be quite the nobody they made him out to be after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler. I started this chapter thinking about how I could humanise Jar-Vis while trying to convey a sense of Steven's importance. I think I may have overdone it >_<

**THERE WERE WARRIORS** everywhere, and the sounds of fighting. In the first instant of his flight, Steven's plan had been simple. 

 

All he had to do was to find some of Amethyst's warriors, and he would be safe. But there were other warriors in the palace as well. The Earl of Jar-Vis had led a small army into the palace by way of the ruined wings to the south, and fighting raged in the corridors.

 

Steven quickly realized that there was no way he could distinguish friend from enemy. To him, one Wy-Atian warrior looked the same as another. Unless he could find Amethyst or someone else he recognized, he did not dare reveal himself to any of them. 

 

The frustrating knowledge that he was running from friends as well as enemies added to his fright. It was altogether possible - even quite likely - that he would run from Amethyst's men directly into the arms of Jar-Vis's.

 

The most logical thing to do would be to go directly back to the council hall, but in his haste to escape from Rohk-Nal-Do, he had run down so many dim passageways and turned so many corners that he had no idea where he was or how to get back to the familiar parts of the palace. His headlong flight was dangerous. 

 

Rohk-Nal-Do or his men could wait around any corner to seize him, and he knew that the Isyaki could quickly re-establish that strange bond between them that Aunt Pearl had shattered with her touch. It was that which had to be avoided at any cost. Once Rohk-Nal-Do had him again, he would never let go. The only alternative to him was to find some place to hide.

 

He dodged into another narrow passageway and stopped, panting and with his back pressed tightly against the stones of the wall. Dimly, at the far end of this hallway, he could see a narrow flight of worn stone steps twisting upward in the flickering light of a single torch. He quickly reasoned that the higher he went, the less likely he would be to encounter anyone. The fighting would most likely be concentrated on the lower floors. He took a deep breath and went swiftly to the foot of the stairs.

 

Halfway up he saw the flaw in his plan. There were no side passages on the stairs, no way to escape and no place to hide. He had to get to the top quickly or chance discovery and capture, or even worse.

 

"Boy!" a shout came from below.

 

Steven looked quickly over his shoulder. A grim-faced Wy-Atian in mail and helmet was coming up the stairs behind him, his sword drawn. Steven started to run, stumbling up the stairs.

 

There was another shout from above, and Steven froze. The warrior at the top was as grim as the one below and wielded a cruel-looking axe. He was trapped between them. Steven shrank back against the stones, fumbling for his dagger, though he knew it would be of little use. 

 

Then the two warriors saw each other. With ringing shouts they both charged. The one with the sword rushed up past Steven while the one with the axe lunged down.

 

The axe swung wide, missed and clashed a shower of sparks from the stones of the wall. The sword was more true. With his hair standing on end in horror, Steven saw it slide through the downward-plunging body of the axeman. The axe fell clattering down the stairs, and the axeman, still falling on top of his opponent, pulled a broad dagger from its sheath at his hip and drove it into the chest of his enemy. The impact as the two men came together tore them from their feet, and they tumbled, still grappled together down the stairs, their daggers flashing as each man struck again and again.

 

In helpless horror Steven watched as they rolled and crashed past him, their daggers sinking into each other with sickening sounds and blood spurting from their wounds like red fountains.

 

Steven retched once, clenched his teeth tightly, and ran up the stairs, trying to close his ears to the awful sounds coming from below as the two dying men continued their horrid work on each other.

 

He no longer even considered stealth; he simply ran-fleeing more from that hideous encounter on the stairs than from Rohk-Nal-Do or the Earl of Jar-Vis. 

 

At last, after how long he could not have said, gasping and winded, he plunged through the partially open door of a dusty, unused chamber. He pushed the door shut and stood trembling with his back against it.

 

There was a broad, sagging bed against one wall of the room and a small window set high in the same wall. Two broken chairs leaned wearily in corners and an empty chest, its lid open, in a third, and that was all. The chamber was at least a place out of the corridors where savage men were killing each other, but Steven quickly realized that the seeming safety here was an illusion. If anyone opened this door, he would be trapped. Desperately he began to look around the dusty room.

 

Hanging on the bare wall across from the bed were some drapes; and thinking that they might conceal some closet or adjoining chamber, Steven crossed the room and pulled them aside. There was an opening behind the drapes, though it did not lead into another room but instead into a dark, narrow hall. He peered into the passageway, but the darkness was so total that he could only see a short distance into it. He shuddered at the thought of groping through that blackness with armed men pounding along at his heels.

 

He glanced up at the single window and then dragged the heavy chest across the room to stand on so that he could see out. Perhaps he might be able to see something from the window that would give him some idea of his location. He climbed up on the chest, stood on his tiptoes and looked out.

 

Towers loomed here and there amid the long slate roofs of the endless galleries and halls of King Thur-Man's palace. It was hopeless. He saw nothing that he could recognize. He turned back toward the chamber and was about to jump down from the chest when he stopped suddenly. 

 

There, clearly in the dust which lay heavily on the floor, were his foot prints. He hopped quickly down and grabbed up the bolster from the long unused bed. He spread it out on the floor and dragged it around the room, erasing the footprints. He knew that he could not completely conceal the fact that someone had been in the room, but he could obliterate the footprints which, because of their size, would immediately make it obvious to Rohk-Nal-Do or any of his men that whoever had been hiding here was not yet full-grown. 

 

When he finished, he tossed the bolster back on the bed. The job wasn't perfect, but at least it was better than it had been.

Then there was a shout in the corridor outside and the ring of steel on steel.

Steven took a deep breath and plunged into the dark passageway behind the drapes.

 

He had gone no more than a few feet when the darkness in the narrow passage become absolute. His skin crawled at the touch of cobwebs on his face, and the dust of years rose chokingly from the uneven floor. At first he moved quite rapidly, wanting more than anything to put as much distance between himself and the fighting in the corridor as possible, but then he stumbled, and for one heart-stopping instant it seemed that he would fall. 

 

The picture of a steep stairway dropping down into the blackness flashed through his mind, and he realized that at his present pace there would be no possible way to catch himself. He began to move more cautiously, one hand on the stones of the wall and the other in front of his face to ward off the cobwebs which hung thickly from the low ceiling.

 

There was no sense of time in the dark, and it seemed to Steven that he had been groping for hours in this dark hallway that appeared to go on forever. Then, despite his care, he ran full into a rough stone wall. He felt a moment of panic. Did the passageway end here? Was it a trap?

 

Then, flickering at one corner of his vision, he saw dim light. The passageway did not end, but rather made a sharp turn to the right. There seemed to be a light at the far end, and Steven gratefully followed it.

As the light grew stronger, he moved more rapidly, and soon he reached the spot that was the source of the light. It was a narrow slot low in the wall. Steven knelt on the dusty stones and peered out.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The hall below was enormous, and a great fire burned in a pit in the center with the smoke rising to the openings in the vaulted roof which lofted even above the place where Steven was. Though it looked much different from up here, he immediately recognized King Thur-Man's throne room. 

 

As he looked down, he saw the gross shape of King Vladimar and the smaller form of King Evan with the ever-present Ruby standing behind him. Some distance from the thrones, King Dewey stood in conversation with Mister Wolf, and nearby was Aunt Pearl. Amethyst's sister was talking with Queen Elena, and Queen Perla and Queen Anya stood not far from them. V paced the floor nervously, glancing now and then at the heavily guarded doors. Steven felt a surge of relief. He was safe.

 

He was about to call down to them when the great door banged open, and King Thur-Man, mail-shined and with his sword in his hand, strode into the hall, closely followed by Amethyst and the Hroden Warder, holding between them the struggling form of the amber-haired man Steven had seen in the forest on the day of the boar hunt.

 

"This treason will cost you dearly, Jar-Vis," Thur-Man said grimly over his shoulder as he strode toward his throne.

 

"Is it over, then?" Aunt Pearl asked.

 

"Soon, Polina," Thur-Man said. "My men are chasing the last of Jar-Vis's brigands in the furthest reaches of the palace. If we hadn't been warned, it might have gone quite differently, though."

 

Steven, his shout still hovering just behind his lips, decided at the last instant to stay silent for a few more moments.

 

King Thur-Man sheathed his sword and took his place on his throne.

 

"We'll talk for a bit, Jar-Vis," he said, "before what must be done is done."

 

The amber-haired man gave up his hopeless struggle against Amethyst and the almost equally powerful Ophidian. 

 

"I don't have anything to say, Thur-Man," he said defiantly. "If the luck had gone differently, I'd be sitting on your throne right now. I took my chance, and that's the end of it.”

 

"Not quite," Thur-Man said. "I want the details. You might as well tell me. One way or another, you're going to talk."

 

"Do your worst," Jar-Vis sneered. "I'll bite out my own tongue before I tell you anything."

 

"We'll see about that," Thur-Man said grimly.

 

"That won't be necessary, Thur-Man," Aunt Pearl said, walking slowly toward the captive. "There's an easier way to persuade him."

 

"I'm not going to say anything," Jar-Vis told her. "I'm a warrior and I'm not afraid of you, witch-woman."

 

"You're a greater fool than I thought, Lord Jar-Vis," Mister Wolf said. "Would you rather I did it, Pearl?"

 

"I can manage, Father," she said, not taking her eyes off Jar-Vis.

 

"Carefully," the old man cautioned. "Sometimes you go to extremes. Just a little touch is enough."

 

"I know what I'm doing, Old Wolf," she said tartly. She stared full into the captive's eyes.

 

Steven, still hidden, held his breath.

 

The Earl of Jar-Vis began to sweat and tried desperately to pull his eyes away from Aunt Pearl's gaze, but it was hopeless. Her will commanded him, locking his eyes. He trembled, and his face grew pale. She made no move, no gesture, but merely stood before him, her eyes burning into his brain.

 

And then, after a moment, he screamed. It was a long, terrible and utterly pitiful sound, as though every eldritch horror imaginable had been plucked from the foulest nether depths and laid bare before his naked mind. Then he screamed again and collapsed, his weight sagging down in the hands of the two bodyguards who held him.

 

"Take it away," he whimpered, shuddering uncontrollably. "I'll talk, but please take it away."

 

V, now lounging near Thur-Man's throne, looked at Ruby. "I wonder what he saw," he said.

 

"I think it might be better not to know," Ruby replied.

 

Queen Elena had watched intently as if hoping to gain some hint of how the trick was done. She winced visibly when Jar-Vis screamed, pulling her eyes away.

 

"All right, Jar-Vis," Thur-Man said, his tone strangely subdued. "Begin at the beginning. I want it all."

 

"It was a little thing at first," Jar-Vis said in a shaking voice. "There didn't seem to be any harm in it."

 

"There never does," Ophidian said.

 

The Earl of Jar-Vis drew in a deep breath, glanced once at Aunt Pearl and shuddered again. Then he straightened. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"It started about two years ago," he said. "I'd sailed to Goku in Q’zarnia, and I met an Indratu merchant named Nashor there. He seemed to be a good enough fellow and after we'd gotten to know each other he asked me if I'd be interested in a profitable venture. I told him that I was an earl and not a common tradesman, but he persisted. He said he was nervous about the pirates who live on the islands in the Gulf of Wy-Ate and an earl's ship manned by armed warnors was not likely to be attacked. His cargo was a single chest - not very large. I think it was some jewels he'd managed to smuggle past the customs houses in Wal’kofte, and he wanted them delivered to Wollock in Delmarvia. I said that I wasn't really interested, but then he opened his purse and poured out gold. The gold was bright red, I remember, and I couldn't seem to take my eyes off it. I did need money - who doesn't after all?-- and I really couldn't see any dishonor in doing what he asked.”

 

"Anyway, I carried him and his cargo to Wollock and met his associate - a Isyaki named Rohk-Nal-Do."

 

Steven started at the name, and he heard V's low whistle of surprise.

 

"As we'd agreed," Jar-Vis continued, "Rohk-Nal-Do paid me a sum equal to what Nashor had given me, and I came away from the affair with a whole pouch of gold. Rohk-Nal-Do told me that I'd done them a great favor and that if I ever needed more gold, he'd be happy to find ways for me to earn it.”

 

"I now had more gold than I'd ever had at one time before, but it somehow seemed that it wasn't enough. For some reason I felt that I needed more."

 

"It's the nature of Alabastian gold," Mister Wolf said. "It  **_calls_ ** to its own. The more one has, the more it comes to possess him. That's why Isyakis are so lavish with it. Rohk-Nal-Do wasn't buying your services, Jar-Vis; he was buying your soul."

 

Jar-Vis nodded, his face gloomy. "At any rate," he continued, "it wasn't long before I found an excuse to sail to Wollock again. Rohk-Nal-Do told me that since Isyakis are forbidden to enter Wy-Ate, he'd developed a great curiosity about us and our kingdom. He asked me many questions and he gave me gold for every answer. It seemed to me to be a foolish way to spend money, but I gave him the answers and took his gold. When I came back to Wy-Ate, I had another pouch full. I went to Jar-Vissholm and put the new gold with that I already had. I saw that I was a rich man, and I still hadn't done anything dishonorable. But now it seemed that there weren't enough hours in the day. I spent all my time locked in my strongroom, counting my gold over and over, polishing it until it gleamed red as blood and filling my ears with the sound of its tinkling.”

 

“But after a while it seemed that I didn't really have very much, and so I went back to Rohk-Nal-Do. He said he was still curious about Wy-Ate and that he'd like to know Thur-Man's mind. He told me that he'd give me as much gold as I already had if I sent him word of what was said in the high councils here in the palace for a year. At first I said no, because I knew it would be dishonorable; but then he showed me the gold, and I couldn't say no any more."

 

From where he watched Steven could see the expressions of those in the hall below. Their faces had a curious mingling of pity and contempt as Jar-Vis's story continued.

 

"It was then, Thur-Man," he said, "that your men captured one of my messengers, and I was banished to Jar-Vissholm. At first I didn't mind, because I could still play with my gold. But again it wasn't long before it seemed that I didn't have enough. I sent a fast ship through the Triangle to Wollock with a message to Rohk-Nal-Do begging him to find something else for me to do to earn more gold. When the ship came back, Rohk-Nal-Do was aboard her, and we sat down and talked about what I could do to increase my hoard."

 

"You're doubly a traitor then, Jar-Vis," Thur-Man said in a voice that was almost sad. "You've betrayed me and you've broken the oldest law in Wy-Ate. No Alabastian has set foot on Wy-Atian soil since the days of Broad-Shoulders himself."

 

Jar-Vis shrugged. "I didn't really care by then," he said. "Rohk-Nal-Do had a plan, and it seemed like a good one to me. If we could get through the city a few at a time, we could hide an army in the ruined southern wings of the palace. With surprise and a bit of luck we could kill Thur-Man and the other Sangrian Kings, and I could take the throne of Wy-Ate and maybe of all Sangria as well."

 

"And what was Rohk-Nal-Do's price?" Mister Wolf demanded, his eyes narrowing. "What did he want in return for making you king?"

 

"A thing so small that I laughed when he told me what he wanted," Jar-Vis said. "But he said that he'd not only give me the crown but a roomful of gold if I'd get it for him."

 

"What was it?" Wolf repeated.

 

"He said that there was a boy - about fourteen - in the party of King Dewey of Delmarvia. He told me that as soon as that boy was delivered to him, he'd give me more gold than I could count and the throne of Wy-Ate as well."

 

King Dewey looked startled.

 

"The boy Steven?" he asked. "Why would Rohk-Nal-Do want him?"

 

Aunt Pearl's single frightened gasp carried even up to where Steven was concealed.

 

"Bismuth!" she said in a ringing voice, but Bismuth was already on his feet and racing toward the door with V close behind him. 

 

Aunt Pearl spun with eyes blazing and the white lock at her brow glowing incandescent in the midnight of her hair. The Earl of Jar-Vis flinched as her glare fell on him.

 

"If anything's happened to the boy, Jar-Vis, men will tremble at the memory of your fate for a thousand years," she told him.

 

It had gone far enough. Steven was ashamed and a little frightened by the fury of Aunt Pearl's reaction.

 

"I'm all right, Aunt Pearl," he called down to her through the narrow slot in the wall. "I'm up here."

 

The entire assembly jumped, startled at the sudden appearance of his seemingly disembodied voice. Aunt Pearl was the first to regain her composure as she spoke:

 

"Steven?" She looked up, trying to see him. "Where are you?"

 

"Up here near the ceiling," he said, "behind the wall."

 

"How did you get up there?"

 

"I don't know. Some men were chasing me, and I ran. This is where I ended up."

 

"Come down here at once."

 

"I don't know how, Aunt Pearl," he said. "I ran so far and took so many turns that I don't know how to get back. I'm lost."

 

"All right," she said, hardly able to keep the relief out of her voice. "Stay where you are. We'll think of a way to get you down."

 

"I hope so," he said.

 

 


	31. The Threat Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The danger having passed, the council reconvenes to decide their immediate course of action. Between deliberations and decisions, Steven gains new additions to his fellowship, and so hence, his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more lore building and intense discussion in this chapter as we gear up for the take-off of this volume into the questline proper.

"Well it has to come out someplace," King Thur-Man said, squinting up toward the spot where Steven waited nervously. "All he has to do is follow it."

 

"And walk directly into the arms of Rohk the Isyaki?" Aunt Pearl asked. "He's better off staying where he is."

 

"Rohk is fleeing for his life," Thur-Man said. "He's nowhere in the palace."

 

"As I recall, he's not even supposed to be in the kingdom," she said pointedly.

 

"All right Pearl," Mister Wolf said. 

 

He called up, "Steven, which way does the passage run?"

 

"It seems to go on toward the back of the hall where the thrones are," Steven answered. "I can't tell for sure if it turns off or not. It's pretty dark up here."

 

"We'll pass you up a couple of torches," Wolf said. "Set one at the spot where you are now and then go on down the passage with the other. As long as you can see the first one, you'll be going in a straight line."

 

"Very clever," V said snarkily. "I wish I were seven thousand years old so I could solve problems so easily."

 

Wolf let that pass.

 

"I still think the safest way would be to get some ladders and break a hole in the wall," Amethyst said.

 

King Thur-Man looked pained. "Couldn't we try Gregarion's suggestion first?" he asked.

 

Amethyst shrugged. "You're the king."

 

"Thanks," Thur-Man said dryly.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A warrior fetched a long pole and two torches were passed up to Steven.

 

"If the line of the passageway holds straight," Thur-Man said, "he should come out somewhere in the royal apartments."

 

"Interesting," King Vladimar said with one raised eyebrow. "It would be most enlightening to know if the passage led to the royal chambers or from them."

 

"It's entirely possible that the passageway is just some long-forgotten escape route," Thur-Man said in an injured tone. "Our history, after all, has not been all that peaceful. There's no need to expect the worst, is there?"

 

"Of course not," King Vladimar said blandly, "no need at all."

 

Steven set one of the torches beside the slot in the wall and followed the dusty passageway, looking back often to be sure that the torch was still in plain sight. Eventually he came to a narrow door which opened into the back of an empty closet. The closet was attached to a splendid-looking bedchamber, and outside there was a broad, well-lighted corridor.

 

Several warriors were coming down the corridor, and Steven recognized Tormund the huntsman among them. "Here I am", he said, stepping out with a surge of relief.

 

"You've been busy, haven't you?" Tormund said with a grin.

 

"It wasn't my idea," Steven shrugged.

 

"Let's get you back to King Thur-Man," Tormund said. "The lady, your Aunt, seemed concerned about you."

 

"She's angry with me, I suppose," Steven said, falling into step beside the broad-shouldered man.

 

"More than likely," Tormund said. "Women are almost always angry with us for one reason or another. It's one of the things you'll have to get used to as you get older."

 

Aunt Pearl was waiting at the door to the throne room. There were no reproaches - not yet, at any rate.

 

For one brief moment she clasped him fiercely to her and then looked at him gravely. 

"We've been waiting for you dear," she said almost calmly; then she led him to where the others waited.

 

"In my grandmother's quarters, you say?" Thur-Man was saying to Tormund. "What an astonishing thing. I remember her as a crotchety old lady who walked with a cane."

 

"No one is born old, Thur-Man," King Vladimar said with a sly look.

 

"I'm sure there are many explanations, Thur-Man," Queen Perla said. "My husband is just teasing you."

 

"One of the men looked into the passage, your Majesty," Tormund said tactfully. "The dust is very thick. It's possible that it hasn't been used in centuries."

 

"What an astonishing thing," Thur-Man said again.

 

The matter was then delicately allowed to drop, though King Vladimar's sly expression spoke volumes.

 

The Earl of Selyse coughed politely. "I think young Steven here may have a story for us," he said.

 

"I expect he has," Aunt Pearl said, turning toward Steven. "I seem to remember telling you to stay in your room."

 

"Rohk was in my room," Steven said, "and he had warriors with him. He tried to take me with him. When I wouldn't, he said he'd had me once and could get me again. I didn't understand exactly what he meant, but I told him that he'd have to catch me first. Then I ran."

 

Ophidian, the Hroden Warder, chuckled. "I don't see how you can find much fault with that, Polina," he said. "I think if I found a Marek priest in my room, I'd probably run away too."

 

"You're sure it was Rohk?" V asked.

 

Steven nodded. "I've known him for a long time," he said. "All my life, I guess. And he knew me. He called me by name."

 

"I think I'd like to have a long talk with this Rohk," Thur-Man said. "I want to ask him some questions about all the mischief he's been stirring up in my kingdom."

 

"I doubt if you'll find him, Thur-Man," Mister Wolf said. "He seems to be more than just a Marek Priest. I touched his mind once - in Mavros. It's not an ordinary mind."

 

"I'll amuse myself with the search for him," Thur-Man said with a bleak expression. "Not even a Marek can walk on water, so I believe I'll just seal off all the ports in Wy-Ate and then put my warriors to searching the mountains and forests for him. They get fat and troublesome in the wintertime anyway, and it'll give them something to do."

 

"Driving fat, troublesome warriors into the snow in the dead of winter isn't going to make you a popular king, Thur-Man," Vladimar observed.

 

"Offer a reward," V suggested. "That way you get the job done and stay popular as well."

 

"That's an idea," Thur-Man said. "What kind of reward would you suggest, Princess Vidalia?"

 

"Promise to equal the weight of Rohk's head in gold," V said. "That should lure the fattest warrior away from the dice cup and the ale keg."

 

Thur-Man winced.

 

"He's a Marek," V said. "They probably won't find him, but they'll take the kingdom apart looking. Your gold is safe, your warriors get a bit of exercise, you get a reputation for generosity, and, with every man in Wy-Ate looking for him with an axe, Rohk's going to be much to busy hiding to stir up any more mischief. A man whose head is more valuable to others than it is to himself has little time for foolishness."

 

"Princess Vidalia," Thur-Man said gravely, "you are a devious woman."

 

"I try, King Thur-Man," V said with an ironic bow.

 

"I don't suppose you'd care to come to work for me?" the King of Wy-Ate offered.

 

"Thur-Man!" Vladimar protested.

 

V feigned surprise. "Blood, King Thur-Man," he said. "I'm committed to my uncle by our bonds of kinship. I'd be interested to hear your offer, though. It might help in future negotiations about compensation for my services."

 

Queen Perla's laughter was like a small silver bell, and King Vladimar's face became tragic. 

 

"You see," he said. "I'm absolutely surrounded by traitors. What's a poor fat old man to do?"

 

A grim-looking warrior entered the hall and marched up to Thur-Man. "It's done, King," he said. "Do you want to look at his head?"

 

"No," Thur-Man said shortly.

 

"Should we put it on a pole near the harbor?" The warrior asked.

 

"No," Thur-Man said. "Jar-Vis was a brave man once and my kinsman by marriage. Have him delivered to his wife for proper burial."

 

The warrior bowed and left the hall.

 

"This problem of the Marek, Rohk, interests me," Queen Elena said to Aunt Pearl. "Might we not between us, Lady Polina, devise a way to locate him?" 

 

Her expression had a certain quality of self-importance to it.

 

Mister Wolf spoke quickly before Aunt Pearl could answer. 

 

"Bravely spoken, Elena," he said. "But we couldn't allow the Queen of Wy-Ate to take such a risk. I'm sure your skills are formidable, but such a search opens the mind completely. If Rohk felt you looking for him he'd retaliate instantly. Polina wouldn't be in any danger, but I'm afraid your mind could be blown out like a candle. It would be a great shame to have the Queen of Wy-Ate live out the rest of her life as a raving lunatic."

 

Elena turned suddenly very pale and did not see the sly wink Mister Wolf directed at Thur-Man.

 

"I couldn't permit it," Thur-Man said firmly. "My Queen is far too precious for me to allow her to take such a terrible risk."

 

"I must accede to the will of my Lord," Elena said in a relieved tone. "By his command I withdraw my suggestion."

 

"The courage of my Queen honors me," Thur-Man said with an absolutely straight face.

 

Elena bowed and backed away rather quickly. Aunt Pearl looked at Mister Wolf with one raised eyebrow, but let it pass.

 

Wolf allowed himself a half-smirk before his expression instantly became more serious as he rose from the chair in which he had been sitting. 

 

"I think the time has come to make some decisions," he said. "Things are beginning to move too fast for any more delay." He looked at Thur-Man. "Is there some place where we can speak without risk of being overheard?”

"There's a chamber in one of the towers," Thur-Man said. "I thought about it before our first meeting but-" 

 

He paused and looked at Evan.

 

"You shouldn't let it concern you," Evan said. "I can manage stairs if I have to, and it would have been better for me to have been a little inconvenienced than to have Jar-Vis's spy overhear us."

 

"I'll stay with Steven," Bismuth said to Aunt Pearl.

 

Aunt Pearl shook her head firmly. "No," she said. "As long as Rohk is on the loose in Wy-Ate, I don't want him out of my sight."

 

"Shall we go then?" Mister Wolf said. "It's getting late, and I want to leave first thing in the morning. The trail I was following is getting colder."

 

Queen Elena, still looking shaken stood to one side with Perla and Anya and made no effort to follow as King Thur-Man led the way from the throne room.

 

_ “I'll let you know what happens _ ,” King Vladimar signalled to his queen.

 

“ _ Of course,” _ Perla gestured back. Her face was placid, but the snap of her fingers betrayed her irritability.

 

_ “Calmly, child, _ ” Vladimar's fingers told her.  _ “We're guests here and have to obey local customs.” _

 

_ “Whatever my Lord commands,” _ she replied with a tilt of her hands that spoke whole volumes of sarcasm.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

With Ruby’s help, King Evan managed the stairs although his progress was painfully slow. "I apologize for this," he puffed, stopping halfway to catch his breath. "It's as tiresome for me as it is for you."

 

King Thur-Man posted guards at the foot of the stairs, then came up and closed the heavy door behind him. 

 

"Light the fire, cousin," he said to Amethyst. "We might as well be comfortable."

 

Amethyst nodded and put a torch to the wood in the fireplace.

 

The chamber was round and not too spacious, but there was adequate room for them all and chairs and benches to sit on.

 

Mister Wolf stood at one of the windows, looking down at the twinkling lights of Van Sangria below. 

 

"I've always been fond of towers," he said, almost to himself. "My Master lived in one like this, and I enjoyed the time I spent there."

 

"I'd give my life to have known Grey Diamond," Evan said softly. "Was she really surrounded by light as some say?"

 

"She seemed quite ordinary to me," Mister Wolf said. "I lived with her for five years before I even knew who she was."

 

"Was she really as wise as we're told?" Thur-Man asked.

 

"Probably wiser," Wolf said. "I was a wild and errant boy when she found me dying in a snowstorm outside her tower. She managed to tame me - though it took her several hundred years to do it." He turned from the window with a deep sigh. "To work then," he said.

 

"Where will you go to take up the search?" King Dewey asked.

 

"Canaar," Wolf said. "I found the trail there, I think it led down into Flaxia."

 

"We'll send warriors with you," Thur-Man said. "After what happened here, it looks like the Marikeen may try to stop you."

 

"No, Wolf said firmly. "Warriors are useless in dealing with the Mareks. I can't move with an army underfoot, and I won't have time to explain to the King of the Flaxen why I'm invading his kingdom with a horde of troops at my back. It takes even longer to explain things to the Flax than it does to Sangrians - impossible as that sounds."

 

"Don't be uncivil, Father," Aunt Pearl said. "It's their world too, and they're concerned."

 

"You wouldn't necessarily need an army, Gregarion," King Vladimar said, "but wouldn't it be prudent to take along a few good men?"

 

There's very little that Polina and I can't deal with by ourselves," Wolf said, "and V, Amethyst and Bismuth are along to deal with the more mundane problems. The smaller our group, the less attention we'll attract." He turned to Evan. "As long as we're on the subject, though, I'd like to have your daughter with us. We're likely to need her rather specialized talents."

 

"Impossible," Ruby said flatly. "I have to remain with my father."

 

"No, Ruby," Evan said. "I don't intend for you to live out your life as a cripple's legs."

 

"I've never felt any restriction in serving you, Father," Ruby said. "There are plenty of others with the same talents I have. Let the Ancient One choose another."

 

"How many other Phi-Lorim are there among the Ainur?" Mister Wolf asked gravely.

 

Ruby shot him an intense look as if trying to tell him something with her eyes.

 

King Evan drew his breath sharply. "Ruby," he asked, "is this true?"

 

Ruby shrugged. "It may be, Father," he said. "I didn't think it was important."

 

Evan looked at Mister Wolf.

 

Wolf nodded. "It's true," he said. "I knew it the first time I saw her. She's a Phi-Los. She had to find out for herself, though."

 

Evan's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. 

 

"My girl!" he said proudly, pulling Ruby into a rough embrace.

 

"It's no great thing, Father," Ruby said quietly, as if suddenly embarrassed.

 

"What are they talking about?" Steven whispered to V.

 

"It's something the Ainur take very seriously," V said softly. "They think that there are some people who can talk to horses with their thoughts alone. They call these people the Phi-Lorim - Lords of the Horses. It's very rare - maybe only two or three in a whole generation. It's instant nobility for any Ainur who has it. Evan's going to explode with pride when he gets back to Aine."

 

"Is it that important?" Steven asked.

 

V shrugged. "The Ainur seem to think so," he said. "All the clans gather at the Stronghold when they find a new Phi-Los. The whole nation celebrates for six weeks. There are all kinds of gifts. Ruby'll be a rich gem if she chooses to accept them. She may not. She's a strange woman."

 

Steven nodded along in understanding. Then he stiffened.

 

“Wait, Ruby’s a  **_gem?_ ** ” Steven exclaimed.

 

“Steven, lower your voice,” said V, frowning. “You know that gems have heightened senses, you don’t want her to hear you, do you?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steven whispered meekly. “But Ruby’s a  **_gem?_ ** ”

 

“Of course she is,” V replied nonchalantly.

 

“But how do you know? Where’s her gemstone?”

 

“It’s in the palm of her hand,” V said. “Honestly for such an observant boy, I’d expect you to have been quicker at noticing.”

 

“You mean gems aren’t always on their chest?”

 

“Not at all,” V said. “Gems look like us and they project their forms from their gems, but each gem is different, and all gems have their gemstones in different places on their body.”

 

Steven paused to take in this surprising revelation as Evan continued to speak.

 

"You must go," Evan said to Ruby. "The pride of Aine goes with you, your duty is clear."

 

"As my father decides," Ruby said reluctantly.

 

"Good," Mister Wolf said. "How long will it take you to go to Aine, pick up a dozen or so of your best horses and take them to Canaar?"

 

Ruby thought for a moment. "Two weeks," he said, "if there aren't any blizzards in the mountains of Delmarvia."

 

"We'll all leave here in the morning then," Wolf said. "Thur-Man can give you a ship. Take the horses along the Great Northern Road to the place a few leagues east of Canaar where another road strikes off to the south. It fords the Great Canaar River and runs down to join the Great Western Road at the ruins of I’chir Volune in northern Flaxia. We'll meet you there in two weeks."

 

Ruby nodded.

 

"We'll also be joined at I’chir Volune by an Tusconian Flaxen," Wolf went on, "and somewhat later by a Gelarian. They might be useful to us in the south."

 

"And will also fulfill the prophecies," Thur-Man said cryptically.

 

Wolf shrugged, his bright blue eyes twinkling suddenly. "I don't object to fulfilling prophecies," he said, "as long as it doesn't inconvenience me too much."

 

"Is there anything we can do to help in the search?" Ophidian asked.

 

"You'll have enough to do," Wolf said. "No matter how our search turns out, it's obvious that the Alabastians are getting ready for some kind of major action. If we're successful, they might hesitate, but Alabastians don't think the way we do. Even after what happened at I’chir Gelar, they may decide to risk an all-out attack on the west. It could be that they are responding to prophecies of their own that we don't know anything about. In any event, I think you should be ready for something fairly major from them. You'll need to make preparations."

 

Thur-Man grinned wolfishly. "We've been preparing for them for five thousand years," he said. "This time we'll purge the whole world of this Alabastian infection. When Old One-Eye awakes, she'll find herself as alone as Blue - and just as powerless."

 

"Maybe," Mister Wolf said, "but don't plan the victory celebration until the war's over. Make your preparations quietly, and don't stir up the people in your kingdoms any more than you have to. The west is crawling with Marikeen, and they're watching everything we do. The trail I'll be following could lead me into Sivu-Isyak, and I'd rather not have to deal with an army of Isyakis massed on the border."

 

"I can play the watching game too," King Vladimar said with a grim look on his plump face. "Probably even better than the Mareks. It's time to send a few more caravans to the east. The Alabastians won't move without help from the east, and the Noxeans will have to cross over into Vaas Indrak before they deploy south. A bribe or two here and there, a few barrels of strong ale in the right mining camps - who knows what a bit of diligent corruption might turn up? A chance word or two could give us several months' warning."

 

"If they're planning anything major, the Drakans will be building supply dumps along the eastern escarpment," Evan said. "Drakans aren't bright, and it's easy to observe them without being seen. I'll increase my patrols along those mountains. With a little luck, we might be able to anticipate their invasion route. Is there anything else we can do to help you, Gregarion?"

 

Mister Wolf thought for a moment. Suddenly he grinned. 

 

"I'm certain our thief is listening very hard, waiting for one of us to speak his name or the name of the thing he stole. Sooner or later someone's bound to make a slip; and once he locates us, he'll be able to hear every word we say. Instead of trying to gag ourselves, I think it might be better if we gave him something to listen to. If you can arrange it, I'd like every minstrel and storyteller in the north start retelling certain old stories - you know the ones. When those names start sounding in every village marketplace north of the Canaar River, it'll set up a roaring in his ears like a thunderstorm. If nothing else it will give us the freedom to speak. In time he'll get tired of it and stop listening."

 

"It's getting late, Father," Aunt Pearl reminded him.

 

Wolf nodded. 

 

"We're playing a deadly game," he told them all, "but our enemies are playing one just as deadly. Their danger's as great as ours, and right now, no one can predict what will finally happen. Make your preparations and send out men you can trust to keep watch. Be patient and don't do anything rash. That could be more dangerous than anything else right now. At the moment, Polina and I are the only ones who can act. You're going to have to trust us. I know that sometimes some of the things we've done have seemed a bit strange, but there are reasons for what we do. Please don't interfere again. I'll get word to you now and then about our progress; if I need you to do anything else, I'll let you know. All right?"

 

The kings nodded gravely, and everyone rose to their feet.

 

Thur-Man stepped over to Mister Wolf. "Could you come by my study in an hour or so, Gregarion?" he said quietly. "I'd like to have a few words with you and Polina before your departure."

 

"If you wish, Thur-Man," Mister Wolf said.

 

"Come along, Steven," Aunt Pearl said. "We have packing to take care of."

 

Steven, a little awed at the solemnity of the discussions, rose quietly and followed her to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that my uploads have been coming slower, but that's because my work leave is coming to an end and I will be returning to military service soon. I feel obligated to at least churn out these last few chapters of this volume, and maybe a little chapter or two as a sneak peek into the next volume.
> 
> I've already fleshed out the entirety of the next volume's storyline, and if all goes well, will begin writing it as soon as I'm finished with this one, with equal consistency.
> 
> Thank you for staying with me thus far, and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	32. Concerning Magical Destinies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More hints at Steven's overall importance to this story, as well as a little demonstration of Pearl's power in the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm treating this chapter as an 'Adventures In Light Distortion' episode (ALD). No real importance or contribution to the plot that we already haven't seen or suspected before, but it's a chapter all the same.

King Thur-Man's study was a large, cluttered room high in a square tower. Books bound in heavy leather lay everywhere, and strange devices with gears and pulleys and tiny brass chains sat on tables and stands. Intricately drawn maps, with beautiful illuminations were pinned up on the walls, and the floor was littered with scraps of parchment covered with tiny writing. King Thur-Man, his coarse black hair hanging in his eyes, sat at a slanted table in the soft glow of a pair of candles studying a large book written on thin sheets of crackling parchment.

 

The guard at the door let them enter without a word, and Mister Wolf stepped briskly into the centre of the room. 

 

"You wanted to see us, Thur-Man?"

 

The King of Cherek straightened from his book and laid it aside. "Gregarion," he said with a short nod of greeting. "Polina." He glanced at Steven who stood uncertainly near the door.

 

"I meant what I said earlier," Aunt Pearl said. "I'm not going to let him out of my sight until I know for certain he's out of the reach of that Marek, Rohk."

 

"Anything you say, Polina," Thur-Man said. "Come in, Steven."

 

"I see that you are continuing your studies," Mister Wolf said approvingly, glancing at the littered room.

 

"There's so much to learn," Thur-Man said with a helpless gesture that included all the welter of books and papers and strange machines. "I have a feeling that I might have been happier if you'd never introduced me to this impossible task."

 

"You asked me," said Wolf simply.

 

"You could have said no." Thur-Man laughed. Then his brutish face turned serious. He glanced once more at Steven and began to speak in an obviously oblique manner. "I don't want to interfere," he said, "but the behavior of this Rohk concerns me."

 

Steven moved away from Aunt Pearl and began to study one of the strange little machines sitting on a nearby table, being careful not to touch it.

 

"We'll take care of Rohk," Aunt Pearl said.

 

But Thur-Man persisted. "There have been rumors for centuries that you and your father have been protecting -" he hesitated, glanced at Steven, and then continued smoothly. "- A certain thing that must be protected at all costs. Several of my books speak of it."

 

"You read too much, Thur-Man," Aunt Pearl said.

 

Thur-Man laughed again. "It passes the time, Polina," he said. "The alternative is drinking with my earls, and my stomach's getting a little delicate for that - and my ears as well. Have you any idea of how much noise a hall full of drunk Wy-Atians can make? My books don't shout or boast and they don't fall down or slide under the tables and snore. They're much better company, really."

 

"Foolishness," Aunt Pearl said.

 

"We're all foolish at one time or another," Thur-Man said philisophically. "But let's get back to this other matter. If these rumors I mentioned are true, aren't you taking some serious risks? Your search is likely to be very dangerous."

 

"No place is really safe," Mister Wolf said.

 

"Why take chances you don't have to?" Thur-Man asked. "Rohk isn't the only Marek in the world you know."

 

"I can see why they call you Thur-Man the sly," Wolf said with a smile.

 

"Wouldn't it be safer to leave this certain thing in my care until you return?" Thur-Man suggested.

 

"We've already found that not even Van Sangria is safe from the Mareks, Thur-Man," Aunt Pearl said firmly. "The mines of Sivu-Isyak and Vaas Indraak are endless, and the Mareks have more gold at their disposal than you could even imagine. How many others like Jar-Vis have they bought? The Old Wolf and I are very experienced at protecting this certain thing you mentioned. It will be safe with us."

 

"Thank you for your concern, however," Mister Wolf said.

 

"The matter concerns us all," Thur-Man said.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steven, despite his youth and occasional recklessness, was not stupid. It was obvious that what they were talking about involved him in some way and quite possibly had to do with the mystery of his parentage as well. To conceal the fact that he was listening as hard as he could, he picked up a small book bound in a strangely textured black leather. He opened it, but there were neither pictures or illuminations, merely a spidery-looking script that seemed strangely repulsive.

 

Aunt Pearl, who always seemed to know what he was doing, looked over at him. "What are you doing with that?" She said sharply.

 

"Just looking," He said. "I can't read."

 

"Put it down immediately," she told him.

 

King Thur-Man smiled. "You wouldn't be able to read it anyway, Steven," he said. "It's written in Old Alabastian."

 

"What are you doing with that filthy thing anyway?" Aunt Pearl asked Thur-Man. "You of all people should know that it's forbidden."

 

"It's only a book, Pearl," Mister Wolf said. "It doesn't have any power unless it's permitted to."

 

"Besides," Thur-Man said, rubbing thoughtfully at the side of his face, "the book gives us clues to the mind of our enemy. That's always a good thing to know."

 

"You can't know Black's mind," Aunt Pearl said, "and it's dangerous to open yourself to her, She can poison you without your even knowing what's happening."

 

"I don't think there's any danger of that, Pearl," Wolf said. "Thur-Man's mind is well-trained enough to avoid the traps in the Black Books, They're pretty obvious after all."

 

"You're an observant young man, Steven," Thur-Man said gravely. "You've done me a service today, and you can call on me at any time for service in return. Know that Thur-Man of Wy-Ate is your friend." He extended his right hand, and Steven took it into his own without thinking.

 

King Thur-Man's eyes grew suddenly wide, and his face paled slightly. He turned Steven's hand over and looked down at the silvery mark on the boy's palm.

 

Then Aunt Pearl's hands were also there, firmly closing Steven's fingers and removing him from Thur-Man's grip.

 

" **_It's true, then_ ** ," Thur-Man said softly.

 

"Enough," Aunt Pearl said. "Don't confuse the boy." Her hands were still firmly holding Steven's. "Come along, dear," she said. "It's time to finish packing." 

 

And she turned and led him from the room.

 

Steven's mind was racing, What was there about the mark on his hand that had so startled Thur-Man? The birthmark, he knew, was hereditary. Aunt Pearl had once told him that his father's hand had had the same mark, but why would that be of interest to Thur-Man? It had gone too far, His need to know became almost unbearable. He had to know about his parents, about Aunt Pearl - about all of it. If the answers hurt, then they'd just have to hurt. At least he would know.

 

The next morning was clear, and they left the palace for the harbor quite early. They all gathered in the courtyard where the sleighs waited.

 

"If you’re going to say you miss me, this is your last chance to admit it." Amethyst told his fur-robed sister as she mounted the sleigh beside her.

 

"Why should I admit  **_my_ ** feelings?," she replied with an arrogant lift of her chin. “When you don’t even admit **_your own_ ** secrets to me?”

 

Amethyst sighed. "Whatever you wish," she said.

 

With King Thur-Man and Queen Elena in the lead, the sleighs whirled out of the courtyard and into the snowy streets.

 

The sun was very bright, and the air was crisp. Steven rode silently with V and Ruby.

 

"Why so quiet, Steven?" V asked.

 

"A lot of things have happened here that I don't understand," Steven said.

 

"No one can understand everything," Ruby said rather sententiously.

 

"Wy-Atians are a violent and moody people," V said. "They don't even understand themselves."

 

"It's not just the Wy-Atians," Steven said, struggling with the words. "It's Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf and Rohk - all of it. Things are happening too fast. I can't get it all sorted out."

 

"Events are like horses," Ruby told him. "Sometimes they run away. After they've run for a while, though, they'll start to walk again, Then there'll be time to put everything together."

 

"I hope so," Steven said dubiously and fell silent again.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The sleighs came round a corner into the broad square before the Temple of Pink Diamond. The blind woman was there again and Steven realized that he had been half-expecting her. She stood on the steps of the temple and raised her staff. Unaccountably, the horses which pulled the sleighs stopped, trembling, despite the urgings of the drivers.

 

"Hail, Great One," the blind woman said. "I wish thee well on thy journey."

 

The sleigh in which Steven was riding had stopped closest to the temple steps, and it seemed that the old woman was speaking to him. 

 

Almost without thinking he answered, "Thank you. But why do you call me that?"

 

She ignored the question. "Remember me," she commanded, bowing deeply. "Remember Marina when thou comest into throe inheritance."

 

It was the second time she'd said that, and Steven felt a sharp pang of curiosity. 

 

"What inheritance?" he demanded.

 

But Amethyst was roaring with fury and struggling to throw off the fur robe and draw her sword at the same time. King Thur-Man was also climbing down from his sleigh, his coarse face livid with rage.

 

"No!" Aunt Pearl said sharply from nearby. "I'll tend to this." She stood up. "Hear me witch-woman," she said in a clear voice, casting back the hood of her cloak. "I think you see too much with those blind eyes of yours. I'm going to do you a favor so that you'll no longer be troubled by the darkness and these disturbing visions which grow out of it."

 

"Strike me down if it please thee, Polina," the old woman said. "I see what I see."

 

"I won't strike you down, Marina," Aunt Pearl said. "I'm going to give you a gift instead." She crossed her arms in that same, curious gesture he had only seen once before.

 

Steven saw it happen quite plainly, so there was no way that he could persuade himself that it had all been some trick of the eye. He was looking directly at Marina's face and saw the white film drain down off her eyes like milk draining down the inside of a glass.

 

The old woman stood frozen on the spot as the bright blue of her eyes emerged from the film which had covered them. And then she screamed. She held up her hands and looked at them and screamed again. There was in her scream a wrenching note of indescribable loss.

 

"What did you do?" Queen Elena demanded.

 

"I gave her back her eyes," Aunt Pearl said, sitting down again and rearranging the fur robe about her.

 

"You can do that?" Elena asked, her face blanching and her voice weak.

 

"Can't you? It's a simple thing, really."

 

"But," Queen Perla objected, "with her eyes restored, she'll lose that other vision, won't she?"

 

"I imagine so," Aunt Pearl said, "but that's a small price to pay, isn't it?"

 

"She'll no longer be a witch, then?" Perla pressed.

 

"She wasn't a very good witch anyway," Aunt Pearl said. "Her vision was clouded and uncertain. It's better this way, She won't be disturbing herself and others with shadows anymore." 

 

She looked at King Thur-Man who sat frozen in awe beside his half-fainting queen. "Shall we continue?" she asked calmly. "Our ship is waiting."

 

The horses, as if released by her words, leaped forward, and the sleighs sped away from the temple, spraying snow from their runners.

 

Steven glanced back once. Old Marina stood on the steps of the temple looking at her two outstretched hands and sobbing uncontrollably.

 

"We've been privileged to witness a miracle, my friends," Ruby said.

 

"I gather, however, that the beneficiary was not very pleased with it," V said dryly. "Remind me not to offend Polina. Her miracles seem to have two edges to them."


	33. Epilogue : On The Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closing chapter of this fic ends with Greg confirming Steven's heritage and the truth of his past.

The low-slanting rays of the morning sun glittered on the icy waters of the harbor as their sleighs halted near the stone quays. Sugilite's ship rocked and strained at her hawsers, and a smaller ship also waited with seeming impatience.

Ruby stepped down and went over to speak to Evan and Queen Anya. The three of them talked together quietly and seriously, drawing a kind of shell of privacy about them.

Queen Elena had partially regained her composure and sat in her sleigh straight-backed and with a fixed smile on her face. After Thur-Man had gone to speak with Mister Wolf, Aunt Pearl crossed the Icy wharf and stopped near the sleigh of the Queen of Wy-Ate.

"If I were you, Elena," she said firmly, "I'd find another hobby. Your gifts in the arts of sorcery are limited, and it's a dangerous area for dabbling. Too many things can go wrong if you don't know what you are doing.

The queen stared at her mutely.

"Oh," Aunt Pearl said, "one other thing. It would be best, I think, if you broke off your connections with the Lion-cult. It's hardly proper for a queen to have dealings with her husband's political enemies."

Elena's eyes widened. "Does Thur-Man know?" she asked in a stricken voice.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Aunt Pearl said. "He's much more clever than he looks, you know. You're walking very close to the edge of treason. You ought to have a few babies. They'd give you something useful to do with your time and keep you out of trouble. That's only a suggestion, of course, but you might think it over. I've enjoyed our visit, dear. Thank you for your hospitality." And with that she turned and walked away.

V whistled softly. "That explains a few things," she said.

"Explains what?" Steven asked.

"The High Priest of Pink Diamond's been dabbling in Wy-Ate politics lately. He's obviously gone a bit further than I'd thought in penetrating the palace."

"The queen?" Steven asked, startled.

"Elena's obsessed with the idea of magic," V said. "The Lion-cultists dabble in certain kinds of rituals that might look sort of mystical to someone as gullible as she is." 

She looked quickly toward where King Vladimar was speaking with the other kings and Mister Wolf. Then she drew a deep breath. 

"Let's go talk to Perla," she said and led the way across the wharf to where the tiny blond Queen of Q’zarnia stood looking out at the icy sea.

"Highness," V said deferentially.

"Dear Vidalia," she said, smiling at her.

"Could you give some information to my uncle for me?" she asked.

"Of course."

"It seems that Queen Elena's been a bit indiscreet," V said. "She's been involved with the Bear-cult here in Wy-Ate."

"Oh dear," Perla said. "Does Thur-Man know?"

"It's hard to say," V told her. "I doubt if he'd admit it if he did. Steven and I happened to hear Polina tell her to stop it."

"I hope that puts an end to it," Perla said. "If it went too far, Thur-Man would have to take steps. That could be tragic."

"Polina was quite firm," V said. "I think Elena will do as she was told, but advise my uncle. He likes to be kept aware of this kind of thing."

"I'll tell him about it," she said.

"You might also suggest that he keep his eyes on the local chapters of the cult in Wal’kofte and Goku," V suggested. "This kind of thing isn't usually isolated. It's been about 50 years since the last time the cult had to be suppressed."

Queen Perla nodded gravely. "I'll see to it that he knows," she said. "I've got some of my own people planted in the Lion-cult. As soon as we get back to Wal’kofte I'll talk with them and see what's afoot."

"Your people? Have you gone that far already?" V asked, feigning shock. "You're maturing rapidly, my Queen. It won't be long until you're as corrupt as the rest of us."

"Wal’kofte is full of intrigue, Vidalia," the queen said primly. "It isn't just the Lion-cult, you know. Merchants from all over the world gather in our city, and at least half of them are spies. I have to protect myself - and my husband."

"Does Vladimar know what you're up to?" V asked slyly.

"Of course he does," she said. "He gave me my first dozen spies himself - as a wedding present.

"How typically Q’zarnian," V said.

"It's only practical, after all," she said. "My husband's concerned with matters involving other kingdoms. I try to keep an eye on things at home to leave his mind free for that kind of thing. My operations are a bit more modest than his, but I manage to stay aware of things." 

She looked at her slyly from beneath her eyelashes. "If you ever decide to come home to Wal’kofte and settle down I might just be able to find work for you."

V laughed. "The whole world seems to be full of opportunities lately," she said.

The queen looked at him seriously. "When are you coming home, Vidalia?" she asked. "When will you stop being this vagabond, V, and come back where you belong? My husband misses you very much, and you could serve Q’zarnia more by becoming his chief advisor than all this flitting about the world."

V looked away, squinting into the bright wintry sun. "Not just yet, your Highness," she said. "Gregarion needs me too, and this is a very important thing we're doing just now. Besides, I'm not ready to settle down yet. The game is still entertaining. Perhaps someday when we're all much older it won't be anymore - who knows?"

She sighed. "I miss you too, Vidalia," she said gently.

"Poor, lonely little queen," V said, half-mockingly.

"You're impossible," she said, stamping her tiny foot.

"I do my best." She grinned.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ruby had embraced his father and mother and leaped across to the deck of the small ship King Thur-Man had provided him. 

"Gregarion," he called as the sailors slipped the stout ropes that bound the ship to the quay, "I'll meet you in two weeks at the ruins of I’chir Volune."

"We'll be there," Mister Wolf replied.

The sailors pushed the ship away from the quay and began to row out into the bay. Ruby stood on the deck, her long scalp lock flowing in the wind. She waved once, then turned to face the sea.

A long plank was run down over the side of Captain Sugilite’s ship to the snow covered stones.

"Shall we go on board, Steven?" V said. They climbed the precarious plank and stepped out onto the deck.

"Don’t forget to tell the Famethyst how much I miss them," Amethyst said to her sister.

"Does that include me, I wonder?" Carnelian said in a now stiff tone she had begun to use with her recently. "Have you any other instructions?"

Amethyst sighed. "You’re not going to let this rest, are you Carny?" She said sadly.

"Let what rest?"

"Forget it."  
"Am I at least going to get a hug before you leave?" she asked.

"What's the point?" Amethyst said. She jumped across to the ship and immediately went below.

Aunt Pearl stopped on her way to the ship and looked gravely at Amethyst's sister. Then, without warning, she suddenly laughed.

"Something amusing, Lady Polina?" Carnelian asked.

"Very amusing, Carnelian," Aunt Pearl said with a mysterious smile.

"Might I be permitted to share it?"

"Oh, you'll share it, Carnelian," Aunt Pearl promised, "but I wouldn't want to spoil it for you by telling you too soon." She laughed again and stepped onto the plank that led to the ship. Bismuth offered his hand to steady her, and the two of them crossed to the deck.

Mister Wolf clasped hands with each of the kings on turn and then nimbly crossed to the ship. He stood for a moment on the deck looking at the ancient, snow-shrouded city of Van Sangria and the towering mountains of Wy-Ate rising behind.

 

"Farewell, Gregarion," King Thur-Man called.

Mister Wolf nodded. "Don't forget about the minstrels," he said.

"We won't," Thur-Man promised. "Good luck."

Mister Wolf grinned and then walked forward toward the prow of Sugilite's ship. Steven, on an impulse, followed him. There were questions which needed answers, and the old man would know if anyone would.

"Mister Wolf," he said when they had both reached the high prow.

"Yes, Steven?"

He was not sure where to start, so Steven approached the problem obliquely. "How did Aunt Pearl do that to old Marina’s eyes?"

"Diamond Magic," Wolf said, his long cloak whipping about him in the stiff breeze. "It isn't difficult."

"I don't understand," Steven said.

"We are all of us, born with the essence of the Diamonds within us,” the old man said. “All we simply have to do, is to imagine what we want to see performed, and then do this.” He folded his arms in that peculiar X formation again.

"That's all there is to it?" Steven asked, a little disappointed.

"That's all," Wolf said.

"Is it a magic gesture?”

Wolf laughed, looking out at the sun glittering sharply on the winter sea. 

"No, Steven" he said. "There aren't any magic words or gestures. Some people think so, but they're wrong. Mareks use strange words, but that's not really necessary. Look closely at the shape of my hands, Steven. What do you see?"

Steven frowned. “You’re… Folding them?”

“Look closer. The shape, Steven, the shape. What shape does it form?”

Steven inspected the curious formation of his arms, how they crossed in the shape of an X, and how his hands bent inwards to touch at the tips. Then it dawned on him.

“It forms a diamond.” Steven breathed.

“Exactly.”

"That’s all there is to it?”

Wolf winced. “Well, not quite. You see, what matters the most is the essence. Everyone is born with it, and every gem is made with it, but in different amounts. Gems are naturally made with more of it than most humans are, but every once in a while, there comes a human with an unnaturally strong concentration of it in their blood, and these ones have the potential to become very powerful magic users.”

Steven listened intently.

“But really, all men and gems can perform magic to some extent, even our dear smith Bismuth could do it if he knew how. They just have to fold their arms exactly as I showed you, and will it to happen, and if their essence is strong enough, it will.”

"Could I do it?" Steven asked hopefully.

Wolf looked at him. "I don't know, Steven," he said. "I wasn't much older than you are the first time I did it, but I'd been living with Grey for several years. That makes a difference, I suppose."

"What happened?"

"My Master wanted me to move a rock," Wolf said. "She seemed to think that it was in her way. I tried to move it, but it was too heavy. After a while I got angry, and I told it to move. It did. I was a little suprised, but my Master didn't think it so unusual."

“That’s all you had to do?” Steven asked incredulously.

"That's all." Wolf shrugged. "It seemed so simple that I was surprised I hadn't thought of it before. At the time I imagined that anybody could do it, but men have changed quite a bit since then. Maybe it isn't possible anymore. It's hard to say, really."

"I always thought that sorcery had to be done with long spells and strange signs and things like that," Steven said.

"Those are just the devices of tricksters and charlatans," Wolf said. "They make a fine show and impress and frighten simple people, but spells and incantations have nothing to do with the real thing, It's all in the mind. Focus the Essence and Focus your Will, and it happens. Sometimes a gesture of sorts helps, but it isn't really necessary. Your Aunt has always seemed to want to gesture when she makes something happen. I've been trying to break her of that habit for hundreds of years now."

Steven blinked. "Hundreds of years?" he gasped. "How old is she?"

"Older than she looks," Wolf said. "It isn't polite to ask questions about a lady's age, however."

Steven felt a sudden, shocking emptiness. The worst of his fears had been confirmed. "Then she isn't really my Aunt, is she?" he asked sickly.

"What makes you say that?" Wolf asked.

"She couldn't be, could she? I always thought that she was my father's sister, but if she's hundreds and thousands of years old, it would be impossible."

"You're much too fond of that word, Steven," Wolf said. "When you get right down to it, nothing - or at least very little - is actually impossible."

"How could she be? My Aunt I mean?"

"All right," Wolf said. "Polina was not strictly speaking your father's sister. Her relationship to him is quite more complex. She was the sister of his grandmother - his ultimate grandmother, it there is such a term - and of yours as well, of course."

"Then she'd be my great-aunt," Steven said with a faint in spark of hope. It was something, at least.  
"I don't know that I'd use that precise term around her." Wolf grinned. "She might take offense. Why are you so concerned about all of this?"

"I was afraid that maybe she'd just said that she was my Aunt, and that there wasn't really any connection between us at all," Steven said. "I've been afraid of that for quite a while now."

"Why were you afraid?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," Steven said. "You see, I don't really know who or what I am. V says I'm not a Delmar, and Amethyst says I look sort of like a Hrodenite - but not exactly. I always thought I was a Delmar - like Bismuth - but I guess I'm not. I don't know anything about my parents or where they come from or anything like that. If Aunt Pearl isn't related to me, then I don't have anybody in the world at all. I'm all alone, and that's a very bad thing."

"But now it's alright, isn't it?" Wolf said, your Aunt really is your Aunt - at least your blood and hers are the same."

"I'm glad you told me," Steven said. "I've been worried about it."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sugilite's sailors untied the hawsers and began to push the ship away from the quay.

"Mister Wolf," Steven said as a strange thought occurred to him.

"Yes, Steven?"

"Aunt Pearl really is my Aunt - or my Great-Aunt?"

"Yes."

"And she's your daughter."

"I have to admit that she is," Wolf said wryly. "I try to forget that sometimes, but I can't really deny it."  
Steven took a deep breath and plunged directly into it. "If she's my Aunt, and you're her father," he said, "wouldn't that sort of make you my Grandfather?"

Wolf looked at him with a startled expression. "Why yes," he said, laughing suddenly, "I suppose that in a way it does. I'd never thought of it exactly like that before."

Steven's eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he impulsively embraced the old man. "Grandfather," he said, trying the word out.

"Well, well," Wolf said, his own voice strangely thick. "What a remarkable discovery." Awkwardly he patted Steven's shoulder.

They were both a little embarrassed by Steven's sudden display of affection, and they stood silently, watching as Sugilite's sailors rowed the ship out into the harbor.

"Grandfather," Steven said after a little while.

"Yes?"

"What really happened to my mother and father? I mean, how did they die?"

Wolf's face became very bleak. "There was a fire," he said shortly.

"A fire?" Steven said weakly, his imagination lurching back from that awful thought - of the unspeakable pain. "How did it happen?"

"It's not very pleasant," Wolf said grimly. "Are you really sure you want to know?"

"I have to, Grandfather," Steven said quietly. "I have to know everything I can about them. I don't know why, but it's very important."

Mister Wolf sighed. "Yes, Steven," he said, "I guess it would be at that. All right, then. If you're old enough to ask the questions, you're old enough to hear the answers." He sat down on a sheltered bench out of the chilly wind. "Come over here and sit down." He patted the bench beside him.

Steven sat down and pulled his cloak around him.

"Let's see," Wolf said, scratching thoughtfully at his beard, "where do we start?" He pondered for a moment. "Your family's very old, Steven," he said finally, "and like so many old families, it has a certain number of enemies."

"Enemies?" Steven was startled. That particular idea hadn't occurred to him before.

"It's not uncommon," Wolf said. "When we do something someone else doesn't like, they tend to hate us. The hatred builds up over the years until it turns into something almost like a religion. They hate not only us, but everything connected with us. Anyway, a long time ago your family's enemies became so dangerous that your Aunt and I decided that the only way we could protect the family was to hide it."

"You aren't telling me everything," Steven said.

"No," said Wolf blandly, "I'm not. I'm telling you as much as it's safe for you to know right now. If you knew certain things, you'd act differently, and people would notice that. It's safer if you remain ordinary for a while longer."

"You mean ignorant," Steven accused.

"All right, ignorant then. Do you want to hear the story, or do you want to argue?"

"I'm sorry," Steven said.

"It's all right," Wolf said, patting Steven's shoulder. "Since your Aunt and I are related to your family in rather a special way, we were naturally interested in your safety. That's why we hid your people."

"Can you actually hide a whole family?" Steven asked.

"It's never been that big a family," Wolf said. "It seems, for one reason or another, to be a single, unbroken line - no cousins or uncles or that kind of thing. It's not all that hard to hide a man and wife with a single child. We've been doing it for hundreds of years now. We've hidden them in Shwar, Hrodenheim, Wy-Ate, Q’zarnia - all kinds of places. They've lived simple lives - artisans mostly, sometimes ordinary peasants - the kind of people nobody would ever look at twice. Anyway, everything had gone well until about twenty years ago. We moved your father, Gerald, from a place in Flaxia to a little village in eastern Delmarvia, about sixty leagues southeast of Wollock, up in the mountains. Gerald was a stonecutter - didn't I tell you that once before?"

Steven nodded. "A long time ago," he said. "You said you liked him and used to visit him once in a while. Was my mother a Delmar then?"

"No," Wolf said. "Rosa was an Ainur, actually - the second daughter of a Clan Chief. Your Aunt and I introduced her to Gerald when they were about the right age. The usual sort of thing happened, and they got married. You were born a year or so afterward."

"When was the fire?" Steven asked.

"I'm getting to that," Wolf said. "One of the enemies of your family had been looking for your people for a long time."

"How long?"

"Hundreds of years, actually."

"That means he was a sorcerer, too, doesn't it?" Steven asked. "I mean, only sorcerers live for that long, don't they?"

"He has certain capabilities along those lines," Wolf admitted. "Sorcerer is a misleading term, though. It's not the sort of thing we actually call ourselves. Other people do, but we don't exactly think of it that way. It's a convenient term for people who don't really understand what it's all about. Anyway, your Aunt and I happened to be away when this enemy finally tracked down Gerald and Rosa. He came to their house very early one morning while they were still sleeping and he sealed up the doors and windows. And then he set it on fire."

"I thought you said the house was made of stone."

"It was," Wolf said, "but you can make stone burn if you really want to. The fire just has to be much, much hotter, that's all. Gerald and Rosa knew there was no way they could get out of the burning building, but Gerald managed to knock one of the stones out of the wall, and Rosa pushed you out through the hole. The one who started the fire was waiting for that. He picked you up and started out of the village. We could never be sure exactly what he had in mind - either he was going to kill you, or maybe he was going to keep you for some reason of his own. At any rate, that's when I got there. I put out the fire, but Gerald and Rosa were already dead. Then I went after the one who'd stolen you."

"Did you kill him?" Steven demanded fiercely.

"I try not to do that more than I have to," Wolf said. "It disrupts the natural course of events too much. I had some other ideas at the time - much more unpleasant than killing."   
His eyes were icy. "As it turned out though, I never got the chance. He threw you at me - you were only a baby - and I had to try to catch you. It gave him time to get away. I left you with Polina and then I went looking for your enemy. I haven't been able to find him yet, though."

"I'm glad you haven't," Steven said.

Wolf looked a little suprised at that.

"When I get older, I'm going to find him," Steven said, "I think I ought to be the one who pays him back for what he did, don't you?"

Wolf looked at him gravely. "It could be dangerous," he said.

"I don't care. What's his name?"

"I think that maybe I better wait a while before I tell you that," Wolf said. "I don't want you jumping into something before you're ready."

"But you will tell me?"

"When the time comes."

"It's very important, Grandfather."

"Yes," Wolf said. "I can see that."

"Do you promise?"

"If you insist. And if I don't, I'm sure your Aunt will. She feels the same way you do."

"Don't you?"

"I'm much older," Wolf said. "I see things a little differently."

"I'm not that old yet," Steven said. "I won't be able to do the kind of things you'd do, so I'll have to settle for just killing him." 

He stood up and began to pace back and forth, a rage boiling in him.

"I don't suppose I'll be able to talk you out of this," Wolf said, "but I really think you're going to feel differently about it after it's over."

"Not likely," Steven said, still pacing.

"We'll see," Wolf said.

"Thank you for telling me, Grandfather," Steven said.

"You'd have found out sooner or later anyway," the old man said, "and it's better that I tell you than for you to get a distorted account from someone else."

"You mean Aunt Pearl?"

"Polina wouldn't deliberately lie to you," Wolf said, "but she sees things in a much more personal way than I do. Sometimes that colors her perceptions. I try to take the long view of things.”  
Steven looked at the old man whose white hair and beard seemed somehow luminous in the morning sun. 

"What's it like to live forever, Grandfather?" He asked.

"I don't know," Wolf said. "I haven't lived forever."

"You know what I mean."

"The quality of life isn't much different," Wolf said. "We all live as long as we need to. It just happened that that I have something to do that's taken a very long time." He stood up abruptly. "This conversation's taken a gloomy turn," he said.

"This thing that we're doing is very important, isn't it, Grandfather?" Steven asked  
.  
"It's the most important thing in the world right now," Wolf said.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to be very much help," Steven said.

Wolf looked at him gravely for a moment and then put one arm round his shoulders. "I think you may be suprised about that before it's all over, Steven," he said.

And then they turned and looked out over the prow of the ship at the snowy coast of Wy-Ate sliding by on their right as the sailors rowed the ship south towards Canaar and whatever lay beyond.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, all of you for being so stalwart in following this fic, and even if you didn't comment, I'm glad that I could at least have the attention of 700+ people in the creation of this original storyline. 
> 
> To Master_of_the_Boot1, I give my ultimate gratitude. Thank you for being my most ardent supporter, and for giving your honest, unadulterated feedback on every chapter I churn out. Had I known of your presence here sooner, I would have dedicated this fic to you. No matter, this is only part 1. There's always more to give :)
> 
> Thus concludes the first part of this saga. Dear reader, if you've made it this far, I thank you too, from the bottom of my heart. Here henceforth marks the beginning of my hiatus, but don't worry, I'll give you guys a sneak peak of the next part shortly :)


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